


Harry Potter Snakes his Way through Life

by Lord_Fae



Series: The World is Dark and Full of Wonder [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abused Harry, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Basilisk - Freeform, But I reserve the right to change my mind, Dumbledore Bashing, F/M, Harry has lots of siblings, Like soooo many original characters, M/M, Multi, Omega Harry Potter, Original Character(s), Parselmouth Harry Potter, Probably no other character bashing???, Ron Weasley Bashing, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherin!Harry Potter - Freeform, Smart Harry, Snake familiar, nice harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-03-30 18:08:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13957125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lord_Fae/pseuds/Lord_Fae
Summary: The ABO, Slytherin!Harry fic that no one asked for but was still made anyway.





	1. Harry Makes a Friend

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own anything. There may be graphic depictions of violence later, but not at the moment. This is sadly un-beta'd, though that may change if my friend finally gets back to me. Also, I'm fairly certain the story will get darker later on.

This story begins on the first bright day in over a week of rain during spring, when the smell of warm, wet earth had all the children in Surrey excited to go outside to play. The fact that it was also near the end of the last day before Easter holidays, didn’t help the fidgety children. It was on this day that Harry Potter was given a monumental task. He was to bring life to the lifeless. He was to bestow that precious gift that was previously solely in the gods’ domain. At the tender age of 9, he was to become a parent. By order of his 3rd grade teacher, he and the rest of his class were tasked with hatching a chicken egg.

Harry, along with all the other young omegas in the class instinctually understood the magnitude of being responsible for bringing life into the world and were appropriately reverent of this lesson. Something that their teacher, Ms. Johnston, found equal parts amusing and adorable; to see the awe and seriousness on those little faces. The other children were less impressed. Ms. Johnston’s beta charges, ever the pragmatists— the trait that defined their dynamic— were wondering how they were to hatch an egg rather than taking a moment to appreciate that they were going to be responsible for a life. Surely Ms. Johnston didn’t expect them to sit on the egg until it hatched! That might be well and good for chickens, but that would get in the way of school and chores at home and playing! The young alphas mostly just wanted to go outside to play, to take in the simple pleasures the first warm day of spring could bring. Leaving thoughts and worries about school at the door. 

Children, Ms. Johnston mused, were truly capable of living in the moment, to not fret things past or worry of things to come. According to her introduction to religion teacher back in college, that was arguably the secret to happiness… she’s pretty sure that’s something he said in reference to some religion or another. Perhaps she should look over the notes she had so meticulously collected over the entirety of her own education, that she couldn’t bring herself to throw them away. It had been sometime since she had had to do any real research on anything substantive than how to make a new pastry and she missed the pride in learning something new. Ms. Johnston pulled herself back to the present as passed out a fertilized chicken egg to the last child. Each child was given a special, insulated box with a tiny battery powered heat lamp attached.

“Alright now everyone, you’ve each been given an chicken egg to hatch. Now part of this lesson is to see how well you can take care of not only the egg, but also the equipment that will give each egg the chance to hatch into a baby chick. If the egg or the equipment are damaged, then the egg won’t hatch. This is no small responsibility and I expect each and everyone of you to take this seriously,” Ms. Johnston stated in her sternest voice, eyes drifting over the class before landing on Dudley Dursley. She gave him an extra pointed look, knowing that unlike his cousin, the young alpha was likely not taking this lesson seriously. Like he did all her lessons. She knew Harry would try his best but, god love him, he was just never managed to do well in class. When she called on him, though he never rose his hand, he would sometimes have the right answer. But most other times had answers that sent the rest of the class into giggles at how wrong they were. And he always seemed to score a few points lower than his cousin, almost impressive. If she had known to look for it, she would have seen that Harry always correctly answered exactly 1 question fewer than his cousin.

“You should all treat this egg as a pet, even if you can’t play with it just yet. As such, you will all be taking it home. Place your egg in a safe place, ask your parents where would be best, and check on its update frequently during the holidays. All of the eggs that are well taken care of should hatch near the end of the holidays, bring in the chick that hatches and we’ll take them all on a field trip,” at the mention of a field trip a shrieky shout rose from the excited children. After the class was quiet once more, Ms. Johnston continued, “a field trip to a nearby farm where the chicks can happily live out the rest of their days with other chickens.” As the final bell of the day rang and the children all started to pack up and head home for the holidays, Ms. Johnston shouted reminders to take care of the egg and have fun over the holidays.

Harry exited the school alone, as none of the other kids had ever had the courage to befriend Dudley Dursley’s poorly dressed, seemingly stupid cousin. He was holding the egg and light contraption reverently, making sure to walk at a slow and steady pace when he heard his cousin’s obnoxious laugh. Harry’s head swung so fast to the source of the noise he could have gotten whiplash. Dudley had just turned the corner with his pack of miscreants, all of his friends were betas and all of them were bullies who followed Dudley implicitly. The lowest ranked friend who followed Dudley mostly so he wouldn’t be picked on by him was delegated the pack mule; he held everyone else’s eggs on a tray. When Dudley locked eyes on his tiny, scared cousin his mouth curled into a malicious smile. There was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch on into eternity as Dudley’s childish pack waited for a cue to pounce on their frightened prey. Harry was the first to bolt, the movement spurred Dudley and all but one of his friends into action as Dudley let loose a shout of “HAPPY HARRY HUNTING!!!!”

Harry, unlike his pursuers, was encumbered by his precious cargo and also generally malnourished. Running while not tripping and keeping the egg stable was slowing the normally fleet boy down. But he had a head start and was unknowingly tapping into the omega instinct to protect its young. These advantages allowed him to escape through a hole in the fence surrounding the school’s playground that only Harry and the younger kids could manage to squeeze through. Dudley’s gang, realizing their prey had managed to evade capture, changed their direction to the gate to take the long way around the fence. By the time they got to the hole Harry had taken advantage of, Harry was half way to the park near his relatives house. Taking every shortcut that he knew, he reached the park out of breath but glad that his egg was safe. Harry went to the wooded area with a creek flowing through it that acted as border between the park and the neighborhood. The wooded area housed the occasional drifter, teens escaping the watchful eyes of their parents, and a clump of bushes. This clump of bushes was Harry’s sanctuary, far more of a home in Harry’s heart than the cupboard under the stairs where he slept. In the heart of the bushes was a small open space that Harry had pruned open wider, somehow never being hurt by the sharp, thick thorns that the bushes were covered in. From all angles on the outside, one could only see bushes. On the inside of Harry’s natural bubble, Harry had scraped together old rags, clothes, and blankets to make his first nest. This tiny haven was sparsely decorated with shiny bits and bobs Harry had hung from the bushes’ branches that shined brightly from Harry’s magic. Harry had figured out during the hottest days of summer that he could control the temperature by thinking really hard, saving the child from heat stroke. Harry couldn’t do it everywhere, only places that he spent a lot of time: his nest, the cupboard under the stairs, and a little bit in the garden outside of number 4 Privet Drive. It wasn’t much, rags and junk in a bush, but it was Harry’s. This was his first nest, and this is the place that he would bring the first life he was responsible for into this world. 

It was only after Harry had settled down into his hidden nest that he looked down in horror that the lamp that was to warm his precious egg had fractured, probably when he had been climbing through the hole in the fence. He didn’t think he had jostled the egg apparatus that much, but apparently the escape hadn’t been as smooth as he had thought it was. He looked around frantically in his nest for something to help him, already clumping together some of the fabric that made up the bottom of his nest. His agitated mind was sifting through dozens of possibilities from making his nest really warm to switching his and Dudley’s lamp bulbs. Just as he was about to tumble into a full-blown panic, he spied in the underbrush of his bushes a toad. He and the toad stared at each other for a solid minute when Harry decided to capture the toad. He knew that toads laid eggs too and if he could convince the toad to sit on his egg, maybe it would be fine. Harry inched into the underbrush, softly pleading with the toad to hop into his outstretched hand but the toad just sat and stared. When Harry’s hand was a few inches from the toad Harry stopped.

“Please Mr. Toad. My lamp broke and if I don’t keep this egg warm the chick inside will die!” Harry whimpered. “Please, if you sit on my egg until it hatches, I’ll bring you bugs everyday. You won’t have to search for food, I’ll feed it to you and you can just sit there. Just like my cousin,” Harry bargained with the toad. Harry was trying desperately to get this will to understand the urgency with will power alone. As the minutes ticked by, Harry felt a pressure building behind his eyes, but he didn’t dare look away from the toad. Finally the pressure broke and a moment later the toad hopped into Harry’s hand. Wriggling back into his nest, Harry placed the toad onto his swaddled egg.

“Now Mr. Toad, this is a big responsibility you’ve taken on and I expect you to behave accordingly,” Harry said in his most serious impression of Ms. Johnston.

“Ribbit,” Mr. Toad responded with a surprising degree of cheek. 

“That said, thank you very much and I promise to bring as many bugs as I can. Do you have any favorite bugs or food allergies?” Harry asked, feeling slightly reprimanded by the toad he had just drafted into watching the egg and then tried to lecture.

“Ribbit,” Mr. Toad unhelpfully replied.

“Right, well I have to get back home. The Dursley’s are heading out for vacation for the holidays and are giving me my list of chores for over the break. But I’ll be back everyday with bugs, like I promised. Thank you again, and I’ll be back tomorrow,” Harry called out while already leaving his nest. Harry thought he was leaving it in good hands…or paws… or whatever toads had.

“Ribbit,” Mr. Toad croaked out in farewell.

Harry arrived at number 4 Privet Drive just as Vernon was about to holler for him to get his useless ass down stairs.

“Where were you, boy? We told you to come home straight after school! We’ve got to get going soon and don’t need our vacation to be delayed because you were too stupid to follow simple directions,” Uncle Vernon griped.

“Sorry, sir,” Harry replied weakly. His head downcast, arms tucked in, and trying to appear even smaller than he already was.

“I doubt you are, you just want to make our lives more difficult than taking care of you already does. I’ll really take care of you when we get back, you hear me freak?!” the obese, angry alpha shouted.

“Vernon, dear, we need to head out soon,” Petunia fretted, she didn’t like witnessing the interactions between her husband and nephew. She and Vernon agreed that a strong hand was needed to deal with such an ungrateful mongrel that was thrust upon her family. But her omega instincts to protect the young warred with her intense dislike of unnatural child.

“Too right Pet, too right,” Vernon said to calm his skittish wife.

“Now your chores are on the fridge. Only eat the food that has been labeled for you in the fridge. Do not bother Ms. Figg unless the house is in danger. DON’T ENDANGER OUR HOME. We’ll be back in a week, if there is so much as speck out of place in this house when we return there will be hell to pay. Be goo….well less bad while we’re gone,” Petunia lectured, her screechy voice grating on Harry’s nerves. 

Before Harry could even respond properly, his horrid family was out the door and onto their vacation. As their car turned the corner and drove out of sight, Harry let out a sigh of relief. A whole week without the Dursley’s!! Sure he still had chores and the only food they left him was week old Chinese take out that they had deemed “too ethnic” for their own consumption. But he could do the chores at his own pace and with breaks when he wanted them. And given the amount they had gotten, intending to feed Dudley and Vernon, it was probably more food than he would finish. Plus now if he went to the library, a favorite place of his since Dudley was a renowned bibliophobe, it would be out of his love of books and not from fear of his cousin. Which made library less bittersweet and just plain old sweet. And best of all, he had plenty of time to visit his egg.

The week seemed to fly by and Harry loved every minute he was free from his family. He did as promised and brought Mr. Toad bugs everyday as the faithful sentry kept watch over his egg. It was on the last day of his break from the Dursley’s and the second to last day of his break from school when his precious egg began to hatch. Harry had brought a new book to his nest and was reading to his egg, and by proxy Mr. Toad who occasionally added commentary. Today he brought a book of reptiles, thinking that Mr. Toad and he could bond over a shared interest other than the egg. Maybe then Mr. Toad would have a better attitude.

As the egg began to shake, Mr. Toad hopped off of his post for the first time in days. As the first cracks appeared in the egg, Harry held his breath eyes wide with wonder and excitement. He couldn’t wait to bring the chick into class to show Ms. Johnston. She was going to be so proud! When the egg shell finally cracked open and a head popped out, Harry was shocked. Instead of an adorable, tiny chick emerging from the white capsule, a blue snake slithered out of his egg. Harry and Mr. Toad sat frozen as the snake took in its surroundings before its eyes fell on Mr. Toad. Mr. Toad gave one last final ribbit of terror before he toppled over, quite dead.


	2. Hogwarts Letter

The next year and a half passed in a, relatively, happy blur as Harry and his serpentine familiar’s bond developed. No longer could Harry say he was just a friendless orphan, now he was an orphan with one friend. Granted his friend was a snake. A snake that could kill with a look, though only small things like rats and toads. Fortunately, Harry had found out that the killing eyes of his friend also preserved its prey from decomposing which allowed Harry to stock up on tiny dead animals to feed his familiar during the winter. 

While Harry sometimes felt self-conscious about having a snake as a friend, those feelings eventually faded away when his friend learned how to talk. The omega in Harry preened when the first word that the snake hissed out was Harry’s name. That preening quickly fell away to a confused anxiety; Harry thought he was going crazy. Snakes couldn’t talk. But Harry reasoned that this was a special snake, born of a chicken’s egg. So maybe his snake was just special. Maybe even magical. That thought felt delightfully naughty to Harry who loved fantasy novels and anything that the Dursley’s hated. After a particularly vehement rant from his Uncle about how Chris Angel and magicians as a whole were an affront to God, followed by a unmotivated beating, Harry had deduced that the Dursley’s didn’t like magic. They only allowed their precious Dudleykins to play sports or fighting video games, any game deemed too magical was not allowed in the house. Something that irked Dudley to the point of loud complaining one day that actually resulted in Dudley getting one of the few punishments he ever received. It wasn’t quite as bad as what Harry often endured, but it did stop Dudley from doing more that grumbling. Though Dudley still played such games at his friends’ houses.

While the snake’s vocabulary had increased exponentially, its ability to hold meaningful conversation was still lacking. It talked like a small child, but it was always getting better and Harry was hopeful that it would one day be able to communicate articulately. Even so, Harry was happy that the lonely nights under the stairs were now filled with a quietly hissed — mostly  one sided— conversation. Instead of the previously oppressive silence, Harry could now talk about his day and his thoughts with someone. Harry was especially grateful during the long periods of time that the Petunia would lock him in the cupboard, sometimes for days on end. 

Physically, the snake was closer to a large worm, though Harry would never voice that comparison. His snake would wrap around his wrist a few times when it wasn’t out hunting bugs or other tiny prey. While it could kill animals much larger than him and have them preserved, he couldn’t swallow those kills. Harry would have to cut up the larger kills into swallowable portions. The knife Harry pilfered cut through his snake’s victims like they were made of ice instead of flesh which often unnerved Harry. Despite the need to dice up tiny, dead animals for his friend, Harry was glad the snake was still small and could act as a bracelet. He worried about when his friend was too big to be hidden by the long sleeves that Harry was forced to perpetually wear. Though, the long sleeves were not questioned by anyone because he had been wearing them for ages to cove the bruises. Fortunately Harry wouldn’t have to worry about his snake growing for long.

It was July 30th, the day before Harry’s 11th birthday. Harry had squirreled himself away in his nest as he like to do on his birthday each year. The Dursleys allowed it partially to get him out of the house. They never asked where he would occasionally spend days at a time. They never cared to ask. Harry had run to the park after he had finished cleaning up dinner the night before so that he could spend the entirety of his birthday in his nest, the closest thing that young Harry had to a true home. With the cool summer air in his lungs and moonlight shining faintly down, Harry drifted into a peaceful sleep.

Harry was not awoken by the morning light filtering through the leaves, which was not yet shining down directly on the hollow center of the brambles that Harry had burrowed into. No, Harry was awoken by the most peculiar thing. A strange weight on his chest that he only identified as an owl after opening his eyes. An owl, of all things. It was perched on his chest staring down at Harry with a cocked, curious head. Now Harry had been seen plenty of wildlife— or the closest thing that a wooded area of a park in the suburban area ever experienced as ‘wildlife’— in his bushy home before. But never had he had an owl stare at him as if it was not the intruder into his nest, but more like a perky pet. As Harry bolted upwards in a sudden burst of wakeful confusion, the bird was unceremoniously thrown backwards with an indignant squawk. 

Harry immediately started apologizing to the strange bird and even offered it some of the precious food that Harry had squirreled away into his nest. As any good omega nest had a stash of food and beloved trinkets, Harry kept a few things in an old X-men lunchbox Harry had found in the stream that ran along the park. Inside his special box, guarded by the strongest mutants— the idea of freaks who were lauded as heroes appealed to Harry greatly— Harry had a few pieces of paper and coloring utensils that he had…acquired from some of his less observant classmates. He also had some bits of the dinner Harry had prepared the night before, some coins he had found lying on the ground, and a box of matches he had taken from Ms. Figg’s home. He felt somewhat bad about that last bit, but alleviated his conscious by thinking she would never miss them or could have burned her house down with them. She was very old after all, and his teachers always mentioned that playing with fire could be dangerous.

As Harry slowly extended a bit of bread, the somewhat rankled bird accepted the proffered food and pets very eagerly before extending one of its claws. It was at that point that the ever observant omega noticed a tiny letter tied to the claw. 

“Is that for me?” Harry asked with suspicious hope.

The owl bobbed its head once. Harry slowly and carefully untied the letter and was amazed as it grew from the size of a postage stamp to a full blown letter. And what was more amazing was that it was addressed to him!

_Mr. Harry S. Potter_

_The Bushes in the Park_

_Little Whinging, Surrey_

At the mention of Harry’s secret place, Harry fearfully looked around before tentatively staring at the sky in betrayal. He remembered Vernon once complaining about the United State’s extensive spy satellite network keeping track of all good, god fearing Britains. Is that how these people had found where Harry’s nest? Deciding he had to get to the bottom of this invasion of his privacy, Harry turned the letter open to find an ornate, old-timey wax seal. Complete with some sort of coat of arms. Reading the letter on the inside of the envelope, Harry’s life was changed forever.

There must be some sort of mistake! Harry wasn’t a wizard! He couldn’t go to a school of witchcraft and wizardry! He was just Harry! A freak, sure, but not a WIZARD! Harry’s frantic mind running through what it could all mean and a traitorous part of him even dared to hope to escape his current situation. 

Sighing and steeling himself, Harry reached into his nest box and pulled out a piece of paper to reply. Thankfully the owl seemed to be expecting some sort of response and hadn’t flown away yet. So in the morning sunlight that danced through the leaves, promising more heat than the cool morning currently offered, Harry wrote out a response. He went over several ways to respond, debating how to phrase his jumbled thoughts. In the end, with a heavy heart, and afraid of having his hopes dashed again Harry wrote out a response. He had been promised freedom from the Dursley’s before. Well meaning school nurses and teachers saw the evident signs of abuse and tried to help him, only for it all to end in a beating for Harry and nothing else changing. It was like some force protected the Dursleys and oppressed Harry. Shaking off the morose thoughts, Harry began to write with his best penmanship.

_Dear Headmistress McGonagall,  
I thank you for your consideration for your presteejus school. Unfortunately, I think there has been some sort of mistake. I don’t believe that I am a wizard. Regardless of if I am or not, I am also quite poor with a family who would definitely not allow me to go to such a fancy school. So again thank you for this opportunity, but unless your school has some sort of scholarship program I will be unable to attend this fall. Have a good rest of your summer._

_Best,  
Harry Potter_

Looking back at the owl who had started to explore Harry’s nest, Harry wondered how he was supposed to make the letter small enough for the bird to carry. Sensing Harry was done though, the bird snatched the letter from his trembling hand and flew away. Feeling suddenly very sad and like he may have just made his greatest mistake in not outright accepting, Harry laid back down and allowed himself to cry. It was his birthday after all, and he was allowed to cry if he wanted to. His sobs stirred his familiar who slithered up to lick away his tears.

“ _Shhh, Harry. Shh.. no be sad. I bite what makes you sad. Shh,_ ” his reptilian friend hissed comfortingly. The same day a snake who wasn’t even two years old tried to comfort a sobbing child, a stern looking woman received a most troubling letter in a castle far to the north.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I thought that it would be cool if the basilisk's eyes had a two-fold power. A preservation ability-- petrification-- and then a killing ability. Together the victim is dead and preserved for later. Or if the basilisk is a dick, preserved and alive to be eaten alive. I'm thinking it can have like an inner eye-lid to only petrify. 
> 
> And I'm not sure if I described Harry's nest well. I was inspired by an episode of Naruto I saw -- yeah, I know I'm trash-- where young!Sakura and Ino were in this bush house thing that Sakura decorated. I can't for the life of me find the episode or images of it. Also, googling "Sakura's bush" turned out less bad than I imagined, and saw more tomatoes than anything.
> 
> And the basilisk has a name. I have a friend who is like a teacher's aid for some nerdy kids, so I had her crowd source what they would name a pet snake. Some runner ups included: 
> 
> Noodle  
> Gucci  
> Tigris  
> Uncle Feathers  
> Slither
> 
> But When I wrote this chapter and the next one, she hadn't sent me anything yet. So you'll learn the snake's name when I reveal it to Harry's fam.


	3. An Unexpected Reunion

For the second day in a row, Harry was awoken by something odd. While not as _peculiar_ as an owl perching on his chest, having someone shouting for him in the woods had still never happened before. And was infinitely more alarming than a friendly bird. Harry had stayed in the park another night, knowing he would have to return to the Dursley’s soon to take care of whatever chores had built up over his time away. What was even more odd was the voice, a man’s voice, sounded worried. He sounded almost like the woman who had lost her dog in the park and had gone searching for it near Harry’s nest. Not wanting to confront an upset, strange man Harry decided the best course of action was to stay in his shelter. He heard the man walking closer, and when he was just outside Harry’s sanctuary the strange man stopped and muttered some funny sounding words. Harry didn’t dare breathe. He could hear the man hadn’t moved away and in fact it sounded like he actually sat down outside Harry’s bushes.

“Harry, I know you’re in there. Could you come out? I promise I won’t hurt you. I just want to talk to you about something very important,” the man—an alpha Harry could faintly smell— asked softly.

Harry did not know what to do, he was terrified. Someone had found his nest.

“Harry? Can you please come out? I promise that I just want to help you, to take care of you,” the alpha asked again, just as softly. In fact he almost sounded remorseful. The omega in Harry wanted to believe that, to finally have an alpha that looked out for him instead of down on him.

“ _What should I do?”_ Harry whispered to his snake. Who just shimmied a bit in what Harry knew to be its version of a shrug. The gesture was something it had learned by emulating Harry and while cute, was wholly unhelpful.

“Harry, I’m not going to force you to come out. But I’m also not going away. I’ll sit out here as long as it takes for you to come out on your own,” the man said patiently.

“You must be hungry in there,” the man said and Harry’s stomach growled in agreement. Harry prayed it wasn’t loud enough for the man to hear. Soon Harry noticed a shifting in the bushes, making Harry consider trying to escape from the other side of the bushes from where the man’s voice was coming from. But the bushes just lifted slightly, like a curtain be parted only slightly and a lunchbox was pushed under. The underbrush between Harry’s inner alcove and the outside world was a few feet wide and Harry knew he couldn’t get out quickly or quietly. As Harry considered escape, the lunchbox had been pushed in about about halfway under the brambles. Oddly Harry hadn’t seen a hand push it in. It wouldn’t take much effort to grab the food and Harry was fairly certain he could grab it before a hand grabbed Harry. So, screwing his courage to the sticking place, he quickly snatched up the lunch box. He could hear a faint sigh and the bushes fell back into place. Inside the lunch box, this one sadly did not have any X-men on it, was a water bottle and a few peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Harry eyed the food suspiciously but figured he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. He hadn’t eaten much the day before, or ever really, and didn’t want to pass up such a great opportunity. Harry knew he was an odd child for not liking holidays and for missing school, but at school he got at least one solid meal and hours away from his family. Harry took a gulp of water and a bite of food, and when he didn’t start to feel any different after a few minutes figured it wasn’t poisoned.

“Harry, I wanted to talk to you about that letter you sent yesterday,” at that Harry stopped mid-chew, frozen in fear and doubt. “You see Harry, it made a lot of people concerned for a number of reasons.  The letter process is…what’s the muggle word…? Oh yes, automated!” the man said loudly, the pleasure at getting such a simple word just served to confuse Harry all the more. “Anyway, we didn’t know a letter had been sent to you, let alone where it was sent to,” the man’s voice sounded so sad for some reason before he paused to clear his voice. “Otherwise I would have come yesterday. Happy belated birthday by the way,” which was possibly the most remorseful ‘Happy Birthday’ had ever heard anyone say. “But what’s done is done, and I am here now,” he said, rallying himself, “and there are somethings we need to clear up. Which would be easier if I was talking to you and not this bush, but hopefully you’ll come out after you’ve heard all I have to say. First, you are indeed a wizard Harry. Haven’t you ever had anything strange happen around you? Anything you couldn’t explain? That was your magic, Harry. You wouldn’t have gotten a letter from Hogwarts if you weren’t a wizard. And you have the funds to attend if you want, there is nothing stopping you from going and never coming back here. Other than staying in this bush,” the man attempted to joke. 

While Harry was a little offended about the bush comment, he perked up at the possibility of escaping his life as he knew it. Hope flowering in his chest. He was a wizard! Not a freak!! Deciding that he would just have to trust this alpha, who couldn’t be worse than Uncle Vernon, especially not with a scent that put Harry oddly at ease. Harry spoke up tentatively for the first time, “Alright, I’ll come out.” He grabbed his X-men lunch box as his snake hid in the folds of Harry’s baggy clothes, and started to crawl out from the safety of his nest. He emerged from the underbrush and stood to face the stranger who had promised to take care of him. When Harry had looked at his would-be savior, Harry let out a gasp as his eyes grew comically big; at the same time the alpha looked so forlorn at the tiny omega. Harry instantly lowered his head and tried to hold back tears; he had already disappointed the first adult who wanted to help him. Before the sadness could be overwhelming, the man who looked so much like Harry that it had shocked him enveloped the child in a warm hug. The scent of alpha, of home, and of protection washed over Harry who latched on to what must be his father and started sobbing. His emotions a turmoil of shock, hope, anguish, and a hint of anger getting the better of the normally aloof child.

“It’s ok, Harry. I’m sorry I upset you, I was just surprised. I was just shocked to see how much I’ve failed you. I am so sorry, I don’t know if you can understand how sorry I am for leaving you. I thought it was for the best, but I was clearly so very wrong. I’m so sorry Harry, and I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you. Shh.. Harry, I’ve got you now and I’m never going to let you go again,” James tried to comfort his malnourished, wounded child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James is not dead! And he wants to rescue the kid whose -- according to the owl mailing system-- home is a bush in a public park. So not a total dick. But why did he give up Harry to begin with? Will he actually be better than Vernon? (admittedly, not a high bar)
> 
> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments, I didn't expect to find them as uplifting as they are. And wish me luck on my job interview tomorrow! It's my third in as many weeks and hopefully someone will give me a job...


	4. Harry Meets Family

As James picked Harry up, he noticed the child went rigid in his arms, he debated what to do next. As a father several times over, he was used to picking up crying children to comfort them, but was apparently the wrong thing to do for this young omega. A large part of him wanted to go tear the Dursleys limb from limb, but his Auror training and better judgement stayed his hand. There was no point denying it, his youngest son was abused. Any idiot, let alone one with law enforcement training, could see the wounds on the child. Literal, barely covered by shirt sleeves that were rolled up in the heat. And emotional, shouldn’t sob in relief at the prospect of leaving the only home he had ever known.

He was furious with them! Not to mention himself. He had entrusted his baby boy with abusers. He had abandoned his child. He was a terrible father. Before those thoughts could consume him however, he took a deep breath and steadied himself. For extra measure, he pulled up his Auror-trained occlumency shields to focus his mind. Harry needed him now and there were things to do.

“Harry? Do you want to grab anything from the Dursleys’ before we go?” at the mention of the Dursleys the already tense Harry started to breathe faster and James could feel his heart rate increase. “Don’t worry, if I won’t let them hurt you ever again. If there is anything there, I can get it later or now. Whichever you want,” James tried to quickly ease Harry’s tension.

“I-I have some clothes there…” Harry said queitly.

“Are all the clothes like the ones you are wearing? Muggle clothing, that is,” James quickly added so as to not embarrass the child…this stranger who shared his blood. Should James even still be holding him? His alpha instincts screamed at him to not release his newly reclaimed off-spring, but his more rational mind was concerned Harry wouldn’t feel comfortable. Spirits above! James wasn’t used to feeling this awkward. And he certainly was never this confused by a child.

“Muggle? I guess. They’re all my cousin’s cast offs, if that’s what you mean? I’m okay with hand-me-downs if you do take me in, sir,” Harry said trying to please his—hopefully— rescuer.

“Of course I’m going to take you, and we’ll get you some clothes of your own. Ones that fit. And Muggle is what we call non-magical people. Now we’re going to travel magically to my…our home. Apparating is not a comfortable experience but it is efficient. There you’ll meet the rest of the family. Your older siblings, the triplets. My wife, your stepmom. Maria, your little sister. And Artur, our oldest. I know it’s going to be a lot to take in and the kids may be a bit much, but I promise no one will hurt you. They’re all very eager to meet you. Do you think you can handle it?” James asked.

Harry was shocked to hear he had such a big family and reluctant to believe that they were eager to meet him. Much less that they wouldn’t hurt him. A part of him almost wanted to stay behind; the Dursleys were awful but they were a known variable. This new family could end up being worse. But Harry took a deep breath and calmed himself, he knew that if he stayed with the Dursleys they’d end up killing him. Vernon’s beatings were getting worse with age, and the amount of food they had given him before had sustained a 7 year old well enough but they weren’t increasing the amount as Harry aged. He’d be a teenager soon enough and he’d need way more food than they were giving him. Not to mention that one threat Vernon like to mock him with, an evil glint in his eyes, that had Harry dreading his oncoming adolescence. Finally Harry nodded his head, unable to articulate anything with all the emotions rampaging through him.

And with that tentative nod, James Apparated them to just outside the Potter manor. He immediately put the squirming boy down and Harry dry-heaved on the grounds. James knelt down to pat his back, wincing sympathetically. “Sorry, it takes a bit to get used to. But we’re now in Scotland. It’s a great way to get around quickly.”  
Harry knew when he wasn’t so nauseated he would be duly impressed with the teleportation magic, but at the moment he just felt gross. When he stood back up and got his bearings, he took a sharp breath. Before him was a castle! He was standing in the shadow of a castle! His father owned a castle! He was going to live in a castle! The small omega from the suburbs was having trouble with the castle part of this tumultuous day and less with the magical aspect; as is the way with children sometimes. Magic is taken as granted, but wealth needs to be shown. Harry gawked while spinning slowly around to try to take it all in. He was flabbergasted at the estate he was supposed to soon call home. Behind him was a stone bridge that lead over a sedate river that was the closest thing to a moat as Harry had ever seen. The bridge was made of great, grey stone slabs each of which had a different marking in the center surrounded by tinier markings that danced around the larger central one. They moved like a PowerPoint transition that one of Harry’s teacher’s had used in a presentation in a  vain attempt to make history more interesting for Harry’s class. But unlike the  projected words on the screen, these markings were _carved_ an inch deep into the stone yet still swam lazily around. Harry eventually turned back to the mansion, having sufficiently accepted the comparatively dull bridge into his new world view. The castle was harder to integrate into his previous understanding of the universe.

His family’s castle was made of a red stone and perfectly uniform bricks unlike the haphazard, heterogenous shaped and sized stone slabs of the bridge. Though the bricks also had strange markings, each brick appeared to have a symbol etched in their center and as Harry blinked, the symbols changed. Not that Harry saw them change, just that they were suddenly different after each blink. A fact that was only noticeable as Harry got closer to this massive building before he placed a hand on the stone wall. Where Harry was expecting to feel something cool and smooth he instead felt…home. It wasn’t a sensory experience but an emotional one. It brought tears to his eyes. This was where he belonged, the Dursley’s abode was just a way station and a place to sleep before he got _here_. As Harry was about to pull his hand away, he felt the Potter Manor— Harry suddenly just knew it wasn’t technically a castle, but a manor— show him all of her rooms. He would never be lost on his family’s estate, the ancestral magic of the Potter clan wouldn’t let its children feel anything but at home within these borders. Harry suddenly knew the layout of this place; built around a an altar at the center and beneath the ground with a fat tower in each of the cardinal directions growing out of the ground. He knew where the kitchens were, in the East tower. Knew that there was a ballroom in the North corridor and a library in the West. Knew that the bedrooms were in the South; there were so many bedrooms that he was quite hopeful he could sleep potentially sneak into one of them to sleep sometime. He also knew that this place wept for him, that it seethed at the treatment of one of her own. Potter Manor was alive. And it wanted nothing more than to wrap up the tiny child and hide him away from the cruel world that had hurt him. Harry took a step back and looked reverently up at these walls before chuckling darkly. 

He had finally felt a mother’s love. And it was from a fucking building. That fit with what Harry’s life had been like so far, he supposed. All the while, James looked on. He had had a small smile on as his youngest son had taken in the Potter manor. James had enjoyed the awestruck look but was concerned by the sudden look of pain that was quickly morphed into a neutral face. “Trust me Harry, the inside is even better. Let’s go in,” James said, beckoning his lost child to him towards the front door.

They were outside a huge, ornate door that didn’t appear to have any handles or hinges. Instead of several planks fastened together, the door appeared to be one large board perfectly fitted into the doorway. On the door was an intricate carving that seemed to tell a story, Harry would have to come out to get a better look at the artwork. This door alone could looked to belong in a museum and could probably sell for enough to buy the Dursley’s house thrice over. Just as Harry was about to ask how to open the door that had art instead of handles, a lovely woman stepped through the door as if it were made of air. She was short. Taller than Harry who had only recently passed the four foot mark, but that wasn’t saying much. Harry had always been on the short side. But still, for an adult, she was short. That was the first thing Harry noticed, standing at a proud 5’3” this dark woman— dark hair, dark eyes, and dark skin— came gliding out of the castle like a queen. She didn’t have the rail thin build that Petunia had, she was quite the opposite of Petunia in fact, but carried her weight beautifully. She moved peacefully to wrap her arm around James and smiled genially down at Harry. Whereas James was dressed in something more fitting of the wild west— lots of dark brown and leather with a vest over a button-down sans a suit jacket— she was wearing a summer dress. Literally. Or as literally as Harry could tell, it looked like summer was somehow distilled into fabric. The flowers seemed to be alive and Harry was hit with the sudden urge to run laughing through a field as the sun warmed him. Which was odd because he was fairly certain he had never done such a thing. He couldn’t help but smile back at her. “You must be Harry! Oh, you are an adorable thing aren’t you? The house elves are going to faint at how thin you are! Best watch out for them, they know just how to fatten a person up. Giving you more and more of your favorites— how they even know what you like without telling them is surely some form mind magic— pushing at your limit gently every meal until and before you know it they’ve got you eating a feast at every meal. Sly ones, those house elves. But ignore all that, and where are my manners?” she asked James, looking away to give the child whose eyes had grown comically huge a chance to regroup. 

“I don’t know dearest. How about you introduce yourself before threatening to fatten him up. He just came from the Muggle world and they believe witches fatten children up so that they can eat them later,” James replied, smiling lovingly at this mystery woman. 

“Muggles! What will they think of next? Honestly, witches eating children. And fat children at that. Harry, always go for meat that’s about 10% fat for veal. That’ll give you the best flavor:edible meat ratio…unless you’re goin for stew in which case —,” the mystery woman was cut off by James who once again prompted her to introduce herself.

“Spirits above, I am usually not like this but you have got me all nervous, little one,”  the woman chuckled weakly, letting some of her nervousness show. Harry didn’t know why he made  her nervous, it’s not like he was particularly intimidating. His concern must have shown on his face because the woman instantly apologized saying, “Oh, not like that dear. Just that I want to make a good impression and for you to feel at home here. Let’s start over shall we? Hello Harry, my name is  Rostrata. Rostrata Potter, your step mother.”

Harry, having only just learnt that his father hadn’t died in a drunken car accident wasn’t quite certain how to take learning that he now had a beta step-mom. He knew on some level he also had siblings in an abundance as well, but seeing in the flesh was much more impactful than James telling him before zapping them across the country. Feeling the beginnings of panic starting to claw its way up form his stomach to grip his lungs, Harry swallowed before putting on his happiest mask. He just hoped it came off as excited rather than manic, but he was doing his best in a frighteningly new situation. ‘ _Come on Potter,’_ Harry thought to himself, ‘ _time to put on your big boy panties and deal with this family. If you wanna live in this freaking castle, you gotta make nice with these people. No breaking down, there’s no way they’re gonna want a cry-baby.’_ “It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. Potter,” Harry said even as he internally winced at calling her Mrs. Potter. Was he supposed to be that formal? But going immediately to calling her mom would be just as bad. He felt like he was in unchartered waters dealing with family that actually cared for him.

Despite a very convincing face, one that had James relieved, Rostrata could see Harry’s aura. And it was not the aura of a happily polite child but of someone on the verge of a panic attack. She berated herself for her allowing her own chaotic nervousness get the best of her before letting go of her husband to kneel down in front of Harry. Now at about eye level, she smiled warmly and calmly at Harry. “Now Harry, you can call me that if you want. But I’d prefer it if called me Rostrata, Rose, Rosie, or even ‘step-mom’ if you want. And it’s OK to be nervous. This is a lot for you to take in. Your dad isn’t dead, you’re a wizard, and you’ve been whisked away to Scotland. Plus, behind that door are 5 kids who are very eager to meet you… well 4 kids who are eager, and one teenager who is pretending to be indifferent but is actually very eager,” Rostrata said in a soothing, matronly voice. “If you get overwhelmed just tug on your ear and we’ll take you to your room and let you settle in. Does that sound OK?” she asked the relieved Harry who smiled and nodded emphatically.

“Alrighty, let’s go meet the rest of the family,” James said while holding out his hand for Harry to take. Thanking Rostrata with his eyes for realizing Harry was more nervous than he was letting on. Hopefully the calming alpha pheromones he was now putting out would help relax the stressed omega, and it seemed to judging by Harry’s shoulders unclenching.

Together they walked through the solid door, passing through the wood elicited a momentary scratchy feeling which let up as soon as they were on the other side. Harry gasped as soon as they entered the hallway. He had never seen such wealth and extravagance, certainly not anywhere he ever went in his old life; he was briefly concerned that he was already considering it his ‘previous life’ and getting too attached to this wonderful new place that could easily be taken away. Harry forced away the unpleasant thoughts as he looked around at the long hallway he and the his new guardians stood in. The walls were sectioned off with wooden pillars that had intricate carvings on them that Harry instinctively knew to be magically protective, as all the strange markings he’d seen thus far were. Between the pillars, the walls had a dark maroon wall paper with golden paisley patterns that seemed to wander lazily on the walls. Giving the impression of larger, golden bugs crawling on the walls. While Harry was impressed with the effect, he also thought it was aesthetically questionable. Did everything in magic need to move, just because it could? Though fortunately the wallpaper was at least partially covered up with a plethora of paintings which also moved but were infinitely more beautiful than the wall paper. Some paintings were of long dead ancestors who were clamoring to get a look at the newest Potter; others were of  fantastical things like dragons, fairy lands, and bubbling cauldrons with ingredients scattered about. Harry wanted to stop at every one they passed, but James was gently guiding him with a hand on his back down the hallway they had turned left into.

“You can come by to admire the art work later, the paintings aren’t going anywhere. Some of them quite literally can’t be moved,” James chuckled.

Harry nodded meekly and was soon mentally back to the present. Or more like mentally in the very near future. With each passing step he became more and more nervous at the prospect of meeting 5 new people close to his age and apparently closely related to him. After what seemed like an eternity and also no time at all, the trio were at a large mahogany door. Harry, as a child and omega was instinctively flanked by the two adults who looked down at him.

“Take a deep breath and relax, Harry. Other than Maria, they don’t bite. And we’ve mostly gotten her to stop that anyway. They just want to meet you. And remember, we are just an ear tug away from being out of there. You ready?” Rostrata asked.

Harry took a deep breath and nodded. At that, James opened the door to a large living room. One wall was covered in windows. Not just that the wall was mostly window, but it was more like checkered with them. Almost like swiss cheese. But instead of uniform circles, the windows were of every shape, size, and color. With a large, circular window with such clear glass that it looked to be empty of glass entirely. Some windows were stained glass pictures of fantastical beasts. 

Stationed at the three doors that lead into this clearly well-loved living space were polished suits of armor. Unlike the hallways, the living room was devoid of any paintings and wall paper. Instead, the walls were all wooden with simple pattern carvings. The walls weren’t the focus for this room, instead family was supposed to be. There were large, comfortable couches, chairs, and pillows scattered about in a large circle. In the center of the room, purposefully surrounded by the rich seating arrangement was a large circular table littered with books, toys, board games, magazines, coloring utensils, and other signs of children playing. 

Harry barely noticed any of this.

Instead, Harry’s attention was focused on the kids who were quietly and intently staring at Harry. They had obviously just been lounging around and Harry felt like they were most likely just talking about him. He was familiar enough with the sensation of interrupting a conversation that was about him. Or about the persona that the Dursley’s had built for him: Trouble with a capital ’T.’ But now he knew these people had a valid reason to be uncertain of him. From their perspective, this new child that was supposed to suddenly be their new sibling; taking up more of their parent’s attention, another mouth to feed, and someone they would have to pretend to love. Certain that they must hate him on principle, Harry took an instinctive step backwards. Only to run into the legs of the two adults in the room who were now making a living wall between Harry and escape. Harry looked up beseechingly at them, his hand already on the way to his ear when he was suddenly lifted up. Any cry he was going to make was muffled by the shoulder his head was pressed into and the hair that was not his own that suddenly surrounding him. Not to mention he was being twirled around and there was a rather loud cry of, “Oh my stars! He’s so cute and tiny! And thank the _Maiden_ we finally have a another Omega. Our family has decidedly too many Alphas. No offense guys.” The omega girl— who honestly couldn’t be much older than himself, Harry thought— had eventually put him down but still had her hands on his shoulders and was giving him a critical evaluation. She probably came to a similar conclusion as Harry had: that given their slight age difference, should not have been able to pick him up and spin him around so easily. Harry could only hold his head up and not look as scared as he felt. She apparently didn’t hate him and he wasn’t going to give her a reason to start. She let him go with an approving nod.

“Yeah, nothing offensive about _that_ at all,” the oldest teen boy said so sarcastically that Harry could hear the eye roll. But there was no heat to the words, unlike the next ones that were spoken by the most affronted young girl Harry had ever heard.

“Hey! There’s nothing wrong with Alphas! We’re the protectors and are intragral part of the family,” the youngest family member said with a self-confirming nod. She had to be about 7 years old, and was wearing overall shorts and a pink t-shirt. She had a lighter complexion than her mother but the same dark wavy hair. Either she hadn’t inherited her father’s messy hair or Rostrata had managed to tame it. Something Harry knew to be nearly impossible.

“That’s true, Mary, but a family needs Omegas to keep hearth and home. And all we have been stuck with so far is Fiddy. And it’s pronounced in-te-gral.” one of the twin boys said placatingly. The two boys who were closest to Harry’s age had similar faces and hair, but wildly different stances and styles. They both looked like older, bigger, and stronger versions of Harry. With wild hair, green eyes, and oddly familiar facial features. Of course there were differences that Harry noticed the longer he looked: eyes not quite as startlingly green and subtle differences in the face. “Hi, my name is Calder. Ignore my…our less than polite siblings,” the boy—Calder— said reaching out his hand with a disarming smile. He was wearing a navy American Eagle polo and white chino shorts. Harry took the proffered hand with a only slightly forced smile of his own.

“Oh hush, Cal. And don’t call me Fiddy. Hi, Harry. My name is _Fidelia_ , though you can call me Delia,” Fidelia said with a pointed glare at Calder. She didn’t offer her hand, assuming that a sudden hug was greeting enough. “And that ray of sunshine is the last of our trio: Erastus. Era, come say hi to Harry,” Fidelia beckoned her surliest looking sibling.

Erastus, who looked almost identical to Calder physically with maybe slightly more muscle. They probably were identical twins who had a fraternal twin (triplet?) sister. But where Calder was dressed like some of the older, preppy students Harry had seen at school, Erastus was dressed like a wizard. Or at least Harry supposed that’s what wizards in summer dressed like, he looked a bit like he should be at a renaissance fair. Erastus wore a silk burgundy tunic with golden embroidery and a lion stitched at the center. The belt he wore around his waist looked to be of better leather and metal work than Harry had ever seen. Had he been wearing boots instead of barefoot and had a sword, Harry could have seen this young alpha as fitting in with the court of King Arthur. His appraising and not too kind gaze did nothing to diminish the idea of royalty that he exuded.

Harry did his best to weather the gaze and not look like the scared street rat that he felt like. “He’s rather scrawny, isn’t he?” Erastus scoffed which was met with an immediate whack upside his head by the older alpha teen that he was standing next too.

“Do not say such rude things,” the alpha teen admonished with an oddly French accent. “Harry iz just petite. I’m sure zat will change somewhat once our elves and time get to him. Do not listen to Era, he iz easily disgruntled. My name iz Artur, I am your eldest and wisest sibling. Technically step-sibling, I come from my mama’s previous marriage as you come from your father’s. Still I shall hope zat you will come to think of me as a brother az our siblings all do,” the mirthful teen said as he offered his hand which Harry shook. At Harry’s confused face, Artur laughed before asking, “You seem to have a question?”

“Ummm…yeah, just—not to be rude— but, you seem rather French?” Harry asked awkwardly.

“Ah yes, I lived zere in my early childhood, I visit my biological father zere, and I go to Beauxbatons like two of my parents did. All that time in France haz left me with something of an accent. It definitely doesn’t hurt with ze girls,” Artur laughed with a wink.

“Don’t let him fool you, Harry. Artur likes to think he is a ladies man, but he’s really a hopeless romantic,” Rostrata teased. This initiated some stories that Harry just _had_ to hear according to Calder and Fidelia, all about Artur’s apparently many disastrous relationships. Including when he tried to emulate 80’s romance movies a dorm mate had introduced him, which resulted in a confused pureblood witch that thought he was ill and called a mediwitch; she placated Artur, who thought he was successfully wooing her. Only to be suddenly relieved of that notion when a matronly old mediwitch burst in and ran diagnostic spells on him while the young witch fretted about his mental health. Or at one point when he tried to ride in on a  literal white pegasus only to fall and break his arm. Or when he was sold some faulty chocolates meant to reveal if love could blossom in a relationship. But instead resulted in the girl to whom he presented them, to burst out in rash that spelled out some rather raunchy scenarios. Artur took the ribbing well and Harry was pleased the attention was solely on him. He was just beginning to relax and laugh along, the group having quickly gravitated to the couches where tea had magically appeared, when Erastus stormed off. The young alpha didn’t say anything, just stood up and left, ignoring his family’s pleas to stay and talk. Erastus’ departure effectively ending the happy mood.

“I’m sorry about him Harry. I don’t know what has gotten into him,” James said sadly.

“It’s fine,” Harry replied lamely. When an awkward silence started to develop, Harry’s omega instincts to please the family and personal desire to bring back the jovial atmosphere kicked in. “So could I get a tour of this place? The house…showed me the layout, but it’s not quite the same as seeing it,” Harry asked. Which was apparently the perfect thing to say because little Maria, who was confused about the strife developing in her family, jumped up to grab Harry and drag him off to explore the manor. While the remaining triplets got up to follow, they were stopped by their parents. “Artur why don’t you make sure Maria doesn’t drive Harry mad. We want to talk to these two about Era and something else,” James said with a knowing look that Harry, already almost at the door that Erastus had previously left through, missed entirely. Artur nodded and got up to follow the newest addition to his patchwork family. Guessing that his dad and mama were going to tell Cal and Delia that Harry was most likely from an abusive family. Artur was a prefect at Beauxbatons and they had received some training in noticing the signs in the younger students so they could alert the teachers. Plus his Alpha instincts were screaming to protect what he saw as an injured Omega. How those instincts were being ignored by Era was baffling. Closing the door behind him, he tried not to dwell on the forlorn and serious faces of his normally happy parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Harry has a lot of siblings. I figured most Wizarding families would be larger than just one child, like an heir and a spare. Especially since with magic, I'd imagine that childbirth wasn't like a possible death sentence so there was no fear from that. For Harry's time at Hogwarts, only the triplets will be important and even then who knows how much. I was originally going to have Artur be the sibling that doesn't like Harry, but since he's off at Beauxbatons, poor Era will have to carry that burden.
> 
> James remarried. Good for him. And I love Artur btw, hopefully you all will as well.
> 
> It's times like these that I wish I had artistic talent. I want to draw what I'm imagining the Potter Manor is like, and not just paint the image with my words. Cause I worry I'm not doing it justice. But whatevs.
> 
> Guess who has another interview Friday? It's me. Hopefully it'll go more like the one I had Monday, where I wasn't a nervous wreck unlike previous interviews.


	5. First Family Dinner

By suppertime, Harry had been shown a library, the kitchens, a few gardens, a greenhouse, a lake, a good spot to fish along the fat, slow river under the bridge in front of the manor, and something called a quidditch pitch. It looked quite a lot like a football field but instead of nets at either end, there were three tall poles. Harry had asked if quidditch was like American football, vaguely remembering that they had poles at the end of their fields in that game as well. Maria was shocked and vaguely appalled at the idea and promised to educate him on the “most greatest sport ever.” Not to mention a long rambling speech which Harry quickly gave up on following about a team called the Holyhead Harpies; Maria was apparently their biggest fan ever. 

While Maria dragged Harry off at lightning speed from one attraction to another on the grounds, Artur followed at a more sedate pace. He was mulling over what he had since learned about Harry. He knew in some abstract way that his dad— James had become his dad in his mind years ago— had another child with Lily but that child was supposed to be a squib. Artur knew that plenty of magical families, especially in Britain, gave up their squib children to be adopted by muggle families to spare their children the harsh and bitter lives of squibs. Growing up in a magical world but without magic, being able to see the wonders but not touch them was cruel. Not to mention there were more than a few instances of squibs being abused or taken advantage of by those with magic since they had no real means of protecting themselves. Even the least bitter squibs were the ones who fled to the muggle world often scorning their parents for showing them such a miraculous life that they could never have. Artur had actually witnessed such a dramatic exit when visiting a school friend in Paris, his friend’s squib sister had gotten in a screaming match with her parents before vowing never to return from university. It was probably the most uncomfortable Artur had ever been and quickly had his parents pick him up.

But before adoption is even considered, the squib children are given extensive tests to check for any magic at all. Some people’s magical core took longer to develop than others and no good parent would give up their child if unless it was the last, best thing to do for them. And if for no other reason than to avoid just this awkward type of reconnection between abandoned child and long, lost parent. He knew his dad wouldn’t have given up Harry unless he was absolutely certain it was to ensure a better life for him. So how did Harry have magic? Artur, like his mother, could see auras and Harry had a magical one. In fact it looked to be exceedingly strong for someone Harry’s age. If Harry had lost or never had a magical core, then it would be gone forever. In Wizarding Europe, there were prisons but another form of punishment—thought to be more humane than exposure to Dementors for years— was removal of one’s magical core. There was no cure. And the ways to test for the presence of a magical core were tried and true. Artur just couldn’t figure out how this mistake had been made. How come he was just meeting this child now and not grown up with him? And who had hurt him so?

Harry was having some trouble keeping up with Maria, even after Artur had insisted on visiting the kitchens for snacks, the tiny omega seemed exhausted. Not to mention he moved with a limp and was so clearly uncomfortable with affection. Not to say he didn’t hide it well, but his aura was readable if not his face.

Maria, in a surprising bout of foresight for a 7 year old, led them to the dining room last just as Rostrata was going to send a patronus for them to come and eat. The dining room had one long dining table that seemed to Harry to be vaguely super-villainesque. James was at the head of the table and Harry was just waiting for him to say, “I’m sure you are all wondering why I gathered you here today.” Possibly with a cat in his lap. Instead he did something much more nerve wracking, he asked about Harry. “So Harry, tell us more about yourself. I feel like we were dominating the conversation earlier and we want to know more about you.” _Since we left you to be raised by monsters instead,_ a dark thought came unbidden to Harry.

“I’m not sure what there is to say, I’m just Harry. There’s nothing all that special about me. I guess I like to read an—“ Harry was cut off by an excited Calder who chirped out, “OOoh, what do you like to read?” 

“Have you ever heard of the Percy Jackson series?” Harry asked tentatively, which spurred a conversation between the two boys about favorite characters and predictions about where Rick Riordan would take the Trials of Apollo. Calder had apparently been introduced to muggle fiction by some of his dorm-mates, though he admitted that he didn’t always understand the slang or some of the terminology. But he said that the best stories just used those as plot devices which were understandable enough to enjoy the books regardless. The conversation eventually led to some older literature, like Charles Dickens, which Fidelia and Artur had read and was able to contribute. James and Rostrata asked questions occasionally but mostly just let the children chat, happy to see Harry light up while talking about something he enjoyed. Maria mostly tuned them out and was babbling at Rostrata and James who did their best to split their attention between all their children. It was a happily chaotic dinner that Harry had always wanted to be a part of, though his eyes kept flitting over to Erastus who looked even surlier than before. Erastus had remained silent and dour throughout dinner, which set Harry’s instinct to flee from an angry alpha on edge. Eventually he tried to include Erastus in the conversation on favorite books, remembering all too well how it felt to be on the outside of happy conversations at school, which turned out to be a mistake. 

“I don’t care about any of these stupid books! That’s not even what _real_ magic is like. Gods above!” Erastus spat out, making Harry go rigid with the desire to run away.

“Erastus Sirius Potter go to your room right now! We will talk about this later,” James commanded, the alpha coming out into his voice instilling a deep silence in the room. With a final growl, Erastus stormed out of the dining room.

“I don’t know what has gotten into that boy,” Rose said exasperatedly.

“I’ll have a chat with him later, he has to know this his behavior hasn’t been acceptable,” James sighed. 

“Don’t worry Harry, it’s just that Era doesn’t like conversations about anything other than quidditch and how awesome he is. Things like books just make him insecure and angry,” Calder said lightheartedly. But was still rebuked by Rose, “Cal, don’t make fun of your brother. Especially when he’s not here to defend himself.”  
“Sorry mom,” Cal said without the least hint of actual remorse. 

“Mmmhmmm… Well I think that’s enough excitement for one day. Harry, dear, are you done eating or are you still working on your food?” Rose asked Harry. Looking around, Harry realized that everyone else had finished their food while Harry had only managed half at most. He knew that if he ate any more he’d get sick but didn’t want to lose the opportunity to eat more. Sensing some of his conflict, Rose once again helped him out.

“If you get hungry later, you can always ask the house elves to bring you up something. As is, I think it’s time to get ready for bed. You’ve got a big day tomorrow, we’re going shopping and I want to take you by St. Mungo’s to get you checked over. And I’m sure you want to see your new room here, right?” Rose asked the now interested Omega.

Surely he hadn’t heard her correctly, his own room! But then the rest of the conversation caught up with him. “Ummm…I don’t really have much money to buy anything…” Harry trailed off only to be cut off by a strained chuckle from Fidelia.

“You don’t have to buy anything, silly. Mom and dad will want to spoil you, make up for lost time,” which made James cringe, “ and what sort of family would we be if we sent you off to Hogwarts with anything less than the best?” Fidelia said matter of factly.

“I’ll pray for you Harry, shopping with Fiddy can be a _nightmare,”_ Cal teased.

“Like you’re any better when we unleash you on poor, unsuspecting bookstores. And don’t call me FIDDY,” Fidelia groused. 

“Fine _Delia_ , can be a nightmare shopping. She’ll dress you up like a doll and she doesn’t appreciate finding the perfect new book,” Cal countered.

“Alright, alright. Cal, it’s your turn to help Maria get ready for bed. Maria, no fussing or Cal won’t read you a bedtime story,” James lightly warned. “Harry, let us show you to your room,” James said with a sweeping bow before holding out his arm to lead Harry away from the dining room. His antics made Harry grin and grab hold of his father…quite an alien thought for the young boy.

James led Harry through the labyrinth of hallways that the manor had already shown Harry how to navigate to the Southern tower with all the bedrooms. On the third floor Harry found he not only had his own bedroom, he had his own suite! Complete with bedroom, bathroom, walk in closet, and study area. Harry looked up to his father shocked, “This is my room?” Harry asked in a whisper. “It’s so big, it can’t be all for me,” Harry continued disbelievingly. 

“It’s all yours, feel free to decorate it how you like. We can pick up some stuff while we’re out tomorrow or if not tomorrow, then when we get school supplies later in the week. Posters and the like. We also have plenty of paintings in the attic you can look through. Oh, before I forget, what’s your favorite color? The bedspread is just a black at the moment but changing the color is easy.” James rambled slightly.

“Green,” Harry replied quickly. “It reminds me of my nest and someone once said it brings out my eyes,” continuing, missing the slight hesitation in his father. James knew that Harry wouldn’t have the same connotation and associations that people who grew up in the wizarding world would have and when he returned from Hogwarts next summer, might want to change his bed spread then. With a flick of his wand, the bread spread changed to a light green plaid.

“Cool,” said Harry, impressed.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” James said with a  slight smirk. “Well we had the house elves stock up your bathroom with everything you should need. And we got some of the boys old clothes here in the wardrobe, we’ll get you some things of your own later,” James said pulling out the nicer clothes than Harry had ever worn and they were cast off he was supposed to sleep in. They were a deep blue and looked to be made of silk. “We were actually going to disenchant these and give them to some muggle charity shop, but haven’t gotten around to it. But like I said, we’ll get you your own soon. The enchantments on these should keep you fairly comfortable at least for tonight, they’re pretty close to failing on their own,”James continued as he passed Harry the clothes. 

“You don’t have to get me any new clothes you know, if all the cast offs are this nice I’ll still be really well dressed,” Harry said somewhat distracted by the amazing feel of the clothes. They felt cool, comforting, and tingled with what Harry guessed was the magic. He couldn’t wait to feel what these pajamas felt like to wear.

“Nonsense, we have the money and we want you to have your own things,” James said dismissively. “So the bathroom is through there, there are some more day clothes for tomorrow in the closet, and the study has some books that Era didn’t ever read and Cal donated — really just an excuse to get new books,” James chuckled. “If you need anything just call out ‘Tonnie’ and he’ll get you sorted. Do you need anything else for the night?” James asked.

“No I think I’m set,” Harry replied, suddenly wanting nothing more than to have some time alone.

“Alright. Well, goodnight Harry. I…I’m really glad you’re home,” James said, somewhat awkwardly with what looked like an aborted attempt at a hug. And with that he left Harry’s new room. For the first time since Harry had been awakened by James shouting outside his nest that morning, Harry was alone. 

He suddenly felt…not quite overwhelmed. But more burnt out. He was a wizard. He had a family. He had a family but was still an outsider to this pre-existing family. He had a family that _abandoned_ him, left him to the Dursleys only to reclaim him now. Why now? They seemed nice enough, but a nice family wouldn’t have left him to that hell. Right? Where a moment ago he had felt a tired emptiness, his emotions were now swirling in confused jumble of anger, sadness, and a tremor hope. 

In an attempt to distract himself from the tumultuous emotions that were roiling inside of him, Harry explored the room. Looking into his study… again, such an alien thought to Harry, he realized why he was given this room. The study had a desk underneath a large window that went up to the ceiling so Harry could see the quidditch pitch and river to the side. The curtains on either side of the window looked like they could completely block out the sun. There were shelves on the far wall partially full of books whose titles Harry didn’t know, except for the first of some Shakespeare. But what made the study special and the room assignment make sense was to the left of the study’s doorway opposite of the desk. Harry looked forlornly at the nesting area, suddenly missing his bushy escape. This was such a new place for Harry to consider nesting, it was comparatively open and spacious. Like a sunken pool filled with pillows and a cubby hole on the wall with a bowl of fruit, water, and a space for other things. Harry placed his X-men lunchbox, which he had refused to let go of all day, in the cubby hole as he sank into the nest of pillows. They smelt clean. Which was wrong, they needed to smell of Harry and home. 

“ _Well, Cujo. This is our home now. What do you think?”_ Harry asked his familiar who slithered up Harry’s torso to wrap around Harry’s neck.

“ _It smells funny. Like you. But different, And thickly everywhere,”_ Cujo responded haltingly. His language skills still had a long way to go.

“ _That’s probably cause they’re all my family. My close family. They seem nice, but I dunno. I don’t know them. How am I supposed to think of them as family? And why in the_ hell _did they leave me with the Dursleys for a decade?”_ Harry spat out, using the strongest curse word that the newly 11 year old was comfortable with.  
Cujo gave a squirmy approximation of a shrug.

“ _Sorry, I’m not mad at you. Just I need to know more about my past with these people if I’m to trust them, let alone call them family,”_ Harry sighed.

“ _Find out,”_ Cujo said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“ _Hmmm…exploring and investigating will have to wait until tomorrow. I’m so sleepy now. Goodnight Cujo, I love you,”_ Harry whispered and gave the snakelet a quick peck on the his scale-y head.

“ _Goodnight Harry. Love you,”_ Cujo replied.

Harry curled up and fell asleep in this strange nest in this strange house full of people he barely knew but claimed to be family. His sleep was fitful and troubled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, the Basilisk's name is Cujo. I figured Harry read Stephen King at some point or saw the movie and sorta equated the name with 'scary killer pet.' Which his Basilisk def falls in the category of even if it isn't a dog. Also a ten yr. old actually suggested it so it has some authenticity I guess.


	6. Diagon Alley and Healing

Harry was becoming concerned that he would never wake to something normal like sunlight or banging at his cupboard door again. For this morning, his first morning in Potter Manor, he woke up to an alien whispering to him. Two large, bulbous eyes staring intently at Harry had the small boy bolting up right and scrambling further into his nest of pillows. 

“Oh apologies young Master Harry, Tonnie is being sorry for scaring the young Master Harry…Tonnie is just trying to wake him. Breakfast is being served soon and Master James and Mistress Rose is wanting to make sure that young Master Harry is up and ready soon,” the alien creature, which was about a head and a half shorter than Harry was, nervously explained while wringing it’s toga.

“Wh-what in the hell are you?” Harry asked in a scared whisper.

“Tonnie is being Tonnie, Master James said to be extra helpful to the young Master Harry seeing as the young Master Harry is so new to the magical world,” the creature—Tonnie— said, apparently willfully ignoring the actual question presented to it..

“Riiiight…well um, tell James that I will be down after I shower and change. I am allowed to use the shower as much as I want, James said that I could,” Harry tried to sound convincing to Tonnie, afraid that there might be restrictions on the shower like Petunia had. Aaaand for now just accepting the strange servile creature as one of those ‘magical’ things he would have to learn about.

“Of course young Master Harry can use the bathroom, it is young Master Harry’s bathroom. Tonnie is being off to tell Master James,” Tonny said before simply popping out of existence, much to Harry’s shock.

“ _ Riiight, well that happened. I guess it’s time to get up?”  _ Harry hissed at Cujo. 

“ _ Gumph ush shmell,” _ came back Cujo’s muffled reply from somewhere in Harry’s nest.

Harry’s bathroom looked better suited for a Roman palace than a child’s bedroom. Everything was white marble and shiny. On the far wall was a sunken tub and shower combination, not unlike Harry’s new nest except designed to clean and relax in hot, scented water rather than pillows. By the time Harry finally got out of the shower, he was pruney from having enjoyed the hot water for so long. He also felt truly clean in the first time in a long time; the Dursley’s had only accepted one dirty thing in their pristine house and that was Harry. Harry pulled on some of the clothes he found in his closet, apparently cast offs, but looked and felt wonderful and new. There were some normal looking clothes, like slacks and button-up shirts. But on a whim Harry grabbed some of the odder looking clothes; he pulled on a green tunic with golden trim, a belt made of braided leather, and what Harry thought were essentially muggle leggings. Looking in the mirror, Harry preened. He looked like a proper omega, not just a street rat. Sure maybe an omega in a BBC period piece or a Shakespeare play made into a movie, but an omega nonetheless.

Some of the  product Harry had found in the bathroom was some sort of magical detangler, so prominently displayed that Harry was a little insulted by the insinuation. But still, thankfully once used, his hair was less rat’s nest and more elegantly ruffled. It was still brittle, but Harry figured even magic couldn’t fix not having been able to take care of it for his entire life. Eyes traveling down from his hair, he skipped over his still damaged glasses, to the elegant clothing. He smiled before heading to breakfast.

“Well don’t you just look adorable,” Rose gushed at Harry. “Oh, but let’s do something about those glasses. _Occulus_ _repairo_ ,” Rose said with a flick of her wand. Harry could see the crack in his glasses fusing shut and felt the tape holding the lenses together unravel into nothingness yet his glasses remained on his face. Harry took them off to inspect and was delighted to see they were much improved and looked excitedly to thank Rosie, but faltered at her concerned face.

“Thank you Rostrata, but what’s wrong?” Harry asked tentatively.

“Oh you’re very welcome, and nothing is the matter other than you not calling me Rose,” Rose fake scolded, with a twinkle in her eye, “Just thinking that we’ll also stop by the optomancer to check out your eyes during our trip to Diagon Alley. Nothing to worry about, dear. Now let’s get some food into you, you’re far too skinny,” Rose said as she ushered him to the dining table that already seated the rest of her family.

Fidelia was just in the middle of seconding her mother’s opinion on Harry’s outfit when Erastus opened his mouth. Something that Harry was learning to dread.

“Gods above, you look like a  _ Slytherin _ ,” Erastus said, contempt heavily laden in that one foreign word.

“I have no idea what that means, but if it means I look hot af then I would have to agree,” Harry shot right back. Which elicited a confusion from most of the family as James, Erastus, and Maria who had less interaction with Muggle and Muggle-borns than the rest of the family and almost no knowledge of Muggle slang. Rostrata, through her job as a liaison between the magical and muggle ministries knew more about the Muggle world, or at least some of the adult portions. She was as lost as James whenever Calder started chatting animatedly about any of his Muggle novels; then she attempted to keep up but tended to nod and smile. Most of the family was amused and glad that Harry was starting to show emotion other than confusion, sadness, or fear.

“You’re a little young to be ‘hot,’ Harry, but you do look very cute today. And Erastus, there’s nothing wrong with Slytherin. Practically a fourth of the non-Covenants in Wizarding UK are Slytherin. And if you really want to work for the ministry, like your father and myself, you had best lose those school-yard prejudices. There are even more Slytherins who rise through the ranks than any other House. And honestly, you Brits are obsessed with which dorm you all slept in at school! Some of the first things I hear about at those awful galas when introduced to new people is which  _ House _ they were in as a child. The only thing worse is alphas and their sports teams!” Rose ranted, clearly not for the first time either.

“I don’t know mama, zose people in ze Grimm dorms are preeetty weird,” Artur teased.

Rose leveled a half-hearted glare at her eldest son, “Firstly, son of mine, don’t you start taking these Hogwart ideas to Beauxbatons. I don’t need a letter from the Headmistress complaining of colonialism. Secondly,  _ I  _ lived in Grimm as you well know. It is a fine building with fine young people living in it.”

“But moommm, Beauxbatons isn’t Hogwarts. And Slytherins are slimy and not trustworthy,” Erastus whined. The other two thirds of the triplets rolled their eyes; at the content of what was said or the whining, Harry wasn’t certain.

“Now hush, Harry could very well end up in Slytherin,” at which Harry noticed a slight grimace from James, “and I expect all of you will treat him as the family that he is regardless of which color he wears at Hogwarts. Am I understood?” Rose said with a warning in her eyes at the triplets. Erastus huffed and crossed his arms, solidifying Harry’s idea that he was probably spoilt. Fidelia rolled here eyes and agreed like it was clearly what she was already going to do. Harry half-expected a ‘duh’ to come out of her, but figured that might be too muggle. Calder just shrugged, barely looking up from the book he had been reading since before Harry had entered the room.

“Soo… Slytherin is a dorm building at Hogwarts? And it’s not well liked?” Harry asked, wanting to know more about the school he was about to be staying at. 

“Ah yes, well not exactly a  _ building _ per say. I believe their dorms are in the dungeons under the lake somewhere. No one outside of Slytherin really knows where, exactly,” James tried at very poorly disguised disinterest, which really just confirmed to Harry that James knew  _ exactly _ where their dorms were. “Each of the four Houses: Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor,” at which Calder, Fidelia, and Erastus respectively responded to, with a wave or puffing up “have their own living areas.  _ I _ don’t know about the rest of the Houses,” again the pride in his voice dashed the illusions of that lie, “But Gryffindor had a common room with dorms for the girls, boys, and omegas with each year in its own room. We were in a tower and had a great view of the forest, plus we had lots of fun jumping from the windows with our brooms,” James smiled as he remembered his apparently idiotic adolescent adventures. Jumping from a  _ tower _ ?!

“Yeah, but Slytherins and us Hufflepuffs don’t have to worry about those freaking stairs making us late to classes,” Delia pointed out.

“Each House has students with similar personality traits. Which is why some level of prejudice lasts and adults will introduce themselves by their House. It’s supposed to help others understand you with just that bit of info,” Calder calmly explained as he apparently finished the chapter he was on and deigned to join the conversation, “Ravenclaws, like myself, are known for intelligence and a love of knowledge.”

“Meaning their nerds,” Erastus not letting an opportunity to tease his siblings pass by.

“Hufflepuffs are like Fidelia: chipper, loyal to a fault, annoyingly helpful, and good at finding things,” Calder continued ignoring Erastus and leaving Harry wondering at the oddity of that ‘finding things’ bit.

Erastus cut in to extol his own house, “Us Gryffindors are the best. We’re brave and noble and—“ 

“Idiotic,” Calder cut in, annoyed at having been cut off himself.

Fidelia started in to try to placate and distract her brothers, “And finally there’s Slytherins who are cunning—“

“Sneaky,” Erastus sneered.

“Ambitious,” Fidelia trudged on.

“Arrogant!”

“Loyal!”

“Only to their own pit of snakes!”

“ENOUGH! What did I just say about taking these House rivalries too seriously?! James! Back me up on this, tell our children that House rivalries start and end at Hogwarts and that they don’t carry on past graduation,” Rostrata exclaimed. James’ pause before answering was also his doom, Harry didn’t need to know about the Wizarding world to know that.

“James Tiberius Potter! I sincerely hope that the alpha I love and married is big enough to put aside school-yard squabbles by the time he is your age,” Rose admonished.

“Of course dear, old habits die hard is all,” James quickly tried to pacify his irate wife, “There are good and bad people in all Houses. Erastus, don’t forget that  _ Peter _ was also in Gryffindor,” James spat the name Peter as if it was venom. The name also quickly made the atmosphere incredibly somber and uncomfortable.

“Okay…instead of Houses, how does Beauxbatons do it?” Harry asked, trying to break the awkward silence.

“Beauxbatons is set up more like a University with different dorm buildings that are named after different magical animals, not the founders of our school. Not that our founders weren’t just as impressive, mind you. They were integral in the formation of Paris, our home city. Beauxbatons’ history and the history of the City of Lights is deeply intertwined. As for our dorms, the most it can tell someone about you is where you sleep. We are all Beauxbatons, there is little to intra-school rivalry. We save our rivalry for other schools, like Durmstrang,” Rose explained with an eye roll at the mention of a  _ third _ magic school.

“Yes, but since both of those schools are on the continent it’s easier for them to actually compete. Hogwarts is isolated in the isles. So the youthful passion and aggression, at least within the alphas, turns towards other houses,” James said, defending his alma mater.

“Wait, why can’t you just…poof to Paris like you did coming here?” Harry asked confused, while pantomiming a tiny explosion. Erastus snorted derisively, though whether at Harry’s ignorance of magical transport or that he already forgot the name of the teleporting magic Harry couldn’t know. Regardless James leveled a warning glare before answering before answering calmly.

“Running water disrupts magic. So since we’re on an island, international travel is rarely done because it’s such a hassle”

“Ok… so why not fly there?” Harry asked, still unsure why Hogwarts couldn’t compete against Beauxbatons. Dudley’s youth group, which Petunia made him go to in order to maintain the ‘Perfect, God-fearing Christian’ image, had taken a weekend trip to Paris to see some Cathedrals and learn about the history of Christianity and Catholicism. Which Harry still was jealous about. Dudley didn’t know anything about architecture or history!

“Weren’t you listening? Running water disrupts magic, we’d fall to our deaths on brooms over the Channel.” Erastus said waspishly.

“I meant in an  _ airplane _ , it wouldn’t take more than a few hours. Or rent a bus, if Hogwarts is in London. Or take the train. Non-Magical folks do international travel all the time and crossing the English channel is super easy,” Harry shot back, getting really irritated with Erastus’ attitude towards him. From the looks on the entire tables faces, the thought of using muggle means had never crossed their minds. 

“Wait. How easy ez eet to get from London to Paris by muggle means? Enternational floo makes mee sick,”  Artur asked with what looked like hope.

“Well you could Google the specifics…? But I think there’s a train that can get there in maybe six hours? I think it only takes two hours to cross the channel from London. So once on the continent you could poof to Paris to cut out that last train bit,” Harry said, trying to dredge up the information he had looked up on the public library computers in one of his day-dream escapes where he fled the country to get away from the Dursleys and lived a happy nomadic life. Living as a transient was definitely better, and more free, than as the Dursely’s slave. Harry had decided he’d revisit the plan when he was older and less likely to be kidnapped.

“Google? How do you Google?” James asked, confused.

“That’s how you internet, right?” Calder knew a little bit about the technological Muggle marvel from muggle-born Ravenclaws and some of the novels he had read, but was eager to know more.

“Uhhh… Yeah,” Harry said, stunned. How was he supposed to explain the  _ internet _ to people who had apparently not yet completely left the middle ages.

“Well, you can explain it to us later,” Rostrata decided, “Now we have appointments to keep.” 

At her declaration, the table was instantly cleaned and some of the Potter family got up to head out to Diagon Alley.

——————————————————

Diagon Alley was… amazing and terrifying. Harry’s senses were overloaded with the thrum and bustle of so much life and magic. It took his breath away and then he struggled to get it back. He could feel his pulse picking up and breath coming out in too short of bursts. Before his vision could start to tunnel, he reigned in his emotions and calmed his body by pure force of will. Sure he hated crowds, but he wasn’t going to let his fear rob him of the wonders ahead. When he had composed himself, he looked up to see a proud father smiling back at him. A sight as unusual to Harry as the actual, miniature garden on one witch’s hat, and just as wondrous. James saw him fight back the panic and win, he was certain that Harry would end up in Gryffindor. 

Their first stop was to Gringott’s to show Harry the family vaults as well as his own trust vault; apparently upon his 18th birthday, had he been left with the Dursleys, he would have received access to his vault through a muggle bank. While at Gringotts, he received small purse that would hold his allowance, 100 galleons per month. Harry didn’t know how much that was exactly, but it seemed excessive. Still, he happily secured the coin purse into a satchel he had found in his new closet and brought along to hold Cujo; he was told that he didn’t need a satchel, even one with an extension and feather-light charm, since all the shopping would be sent directly to the Potter manor. But James had relented easily when Harry said he liked it and wanted to carry it around. Harry wasn’t quite willing to give up all his secrets, much less his biggest one: his familiar. 

After a looooong day of shopping which apparently translated to spending far too much money on Harry, in his humble opinion. By the end of everything he had a magical trunk that he could almost definitely live out of (or even inside) for forever. It had wards, charms, and glamours so Harry could take it anywhere and it would always be safe. It also cost more quite a lot of money, Harry wasn’t certain what the Galleon to pound exchange rate was and at this point didn’t want to know. The amount of money he now had access to and the amount that was being thrown around today was terrifying and staggering to him. Just a little while ago he was wearing his cousin’s cast offs with a rope as a belt. Now his new parents— he wasn’t sure what term he should apply to James and Rostrata, but secretly liked the idea of having  _ parents  _ instead of guardians _ — _ bought him an entirely new well-fitted, stylish wardrobe; though they relented to his insistence that they get the clothes magic’d so that they would grow with him for a few years. In the back of his mind though, he had a nagging feeling that they were humoring him now and hoping that they would try to change his mind later. Maybe they thought enough time with Fidelia would make him want a new clothes more frequently. From what he knew about Fidelia, they might just be right.

Outlandish amounts of money being—in Harry’s opinion— ill-spent on him aside, he didn’t  _ hate _ the attention. Calder had been right that Delia had made him try on more clothes than he had ever worn in his life and even some make-up. But being spoiled wasn’t terrible; he didn’t always like the attention and preferred less ostentatious clothes but also couldn’t help but preen at the compliments Delia lavished him with and the cooing James and Rosie failed to suppress. 

Once the ‘fun’ shopping was out of the way, and the school supplies were being checked off one by one, it dawned on Harry that magic was complex. He had vaguely thought it was some funny words and swishing those sticks about. But now… It mostly hit home at the apothecary where Rose was buying the ingredients for first year potions and how to determine the best ones. As she explained how to determine freshness— or oldness in some cases—she also mentioned the properties of ingredients. Like how moon-sugar always went in water based potions and catnip in oil-based potions. It was like chemistry mixed with botany. And in the bookstore, Harry discovered that he would eventually have to learn languages that hadn’t been spoken by muggles in centuries. He had wanted to get more books but was pacified with a description of Hogwart’s library and a promise he could steal from Calder. The last part was from Delia who said she could make that promise because of triplet’s prerogative. She also teased him about being just as nerdy as Calder, which he thought a bit unfair. 

But by far the most surreal experience that hit home just how otherworldly magic was, was when he got his wand. In a dimly lit shop with towering stacks of boxes that looked a bit like slightly like thinner shoe boxes, Harry was supposed to buy a stick. Harry had seen magic performed enough already to know that wands were important in doing magic, though Harry wasn’t sure why. He had already performed magic, accidentally yet but still, wouldn’t this fancy school he was going to train him how to do magic on purpose instead? He voiced as much which, to his slight embarrassment, elicited a round of chuckles. James told him he would be taught all about that “boring magical theory stuff” at Hogwarts later which would explain why wandless magic was so hard. He was also told that doing magic on accident was referred to as accidental magic, which Harry could have figured out himself. 

Mr. Ollivander was an odd person and seemed to revel in the disaster that Harry was causing with each failed flick of what seemed like dozens of wands. He went deeper into his store, muttering about tricky customers. While he was out of the room, Harry asked his shopping companions what type of wands they had.

“It’s alright to ask us, since we’re family Harry, but it’s a rather personal question so don’t ask just anyone,” Rose said gently, but Harry still felt his face getting hotter. He felt like he would never quite fit into this new world with odd social rules. “You see Harry, wands are at the core of wizarding magic, they’re the most powerful focus for our magic which makes them the most dangerous. So wizards use wands made for an individual user, the wand that is best suited for you, to minimize the danger,” Rose explained carefully.

“That’s quite right, dear, if a little simplified,” Ollivander said, returning with more boxes of wands, “I don’t remember making you a wand, where did you get yours?”

“My first was a family wand, but my second was from Gregorovitch,” Rose replied before turning to explain to Harry, “It’s custom to get a wand at the beginning and end of your magical training. My family, like many others, prefer to give a wand from an ancestor to a child as their first wand. It may be harder to wield, but the familial magic is more likely to keep you safe. Sometimes, it’s said that with a family wand and in times in great distress, the wand will come alive for the child and protect them with magic far beyond their normal ability. Which I would believe, my first wand definitely seemed more alive than my second. It was always a comfort to wield.”

“Why don’t we do that?” Harry asked, quite liking the sound of being protected by family magic.

“The Potter family has a long tradition of being buried with their wands on the Potter estate, but not in graves. We’re buried outside of caskets so that from our wands, trees will grow that strengthen the land and ancestral magic of the estate. Our estate is alive with our history and magic, more so than most other ancestral homes because of this tradition. And your mother came from a muggle family, so there aren’t any wands on that side either,” James said with pride evident in his voice when describing his family tradition. Harry had to admit that it was a nice tradition, if a bit unnerving to think of the trees as his ancestors.

“And quite a lovely tradition that is too, so many wands often sit in vaults to be forgotten. Wands can become twisted things when not used and appreciated; and magic always returns to the earth anyway,” Ollivander added with a grin, “Harry, you’ll just have to suffer through one of my wands. I’m sure it’ll still serve you well.”

“Yes, I’m sure it will sir,” Harry said politely, before prompting the adults back onto the original conversation, “Why shouldn’t I ask people about their wands? Why is it personal?”

“Well it’s mostly you shouldn’t ask about the wand’s core, because that’s the part people can’t see. There are two parts of a wand: the wood and the core. The core is made of some magical animal like a phoenix feather, dragon heartstring, or unicorn hair. The wood can come from any tree and anyone with a good eye will be able to tell what the wood of your wand is whenever you use it. Both parts can tell you about a person. Cores tell you what sort of magic someone is best at and once you’re out of school, a person’s magic tends to become more personal. A wand’s wood can tell you what sort of personality that person has, which tends to complement a person’s magic. For instance, the triplets have wands of oak, ash, and thorn. Each is a blessed tree with extensive lore and each tree favors different personalities,” Ollivander lectured a bit while Harry tried still more wands.

“Yeah, like I have the ash wand cause it’s a feminine tree that supports the world. Just like I am the feminine part of my triplet trifecta and, let’s be honest, I support them,” Fidelia proudly stated.

“Huh? Nothing supports the world, it kinda just flies through space? So wands are like your astrology sign except they actually tell you something about yourself?” Harry asked, confused.

“No silly, Yggdrasil, the world tree is supposed to an ash tree,” Fidelia said, and if Harry hadn’t been a bit of a mythology nerd he would have been even more confused.

“OOOhh, form Norse mythology. Gotcha,” Harry said quickly, so as to not seem to ignorant, “I’ve read some of that in after reading the  Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard .” It was a little gratifying to bewilder magical people with muggle stuff, Harry thought.

“Also, don’t let Professors Trelawney or Sinistra hear you say that about astrology, they get defensive about star magic,” Fidelia warned.

Before anyone could talk more about wands, teachers, or tree lore, Harry found his first wand. As he held it, he instantly and instinctively knew that this was meant to be his. It was a light yellow with swirls of red throughout the wood that looked almost like fresh blood splattered on it. It was mostly straight but had a natural curve to it, it looked less refined than many of the other wands he had tried. Like it was closer to nature. And as soon as it connected with Harry’s magic, he knew that it was closer to nature. To the circle of life and death. To magic itself, in it’s purest form. It was also evident to everyone in the room that this was his wand, as he began to literally glow for a short time.

“Looks like you’ve found it,” James said with a grin that slipped when he noticed Ollivander’s ashen face.

“That’s very peculiar, very peculiar indeed. That wand has been in my shop for over half a century now and has never shown interest in being used. I didn’t expect it to ever be used, to be honest. I was something of a rebellious stage when I made that,” Ollivander whispered, his voice and appearance seemed to age drastically. “My father had just died, leaving me the shop. Death and Life were on my mind and my work reflected it. I used ingredients that I wouldn’t now because they are too raw. Too close to our Lady Hecate and the domain of the gods. Most of the Ollivander estate is a forest of wand-trees, you know. I use only what those trees naturally provide and they provide what I need. At the time, I needed to make that wand and one of my trees granted me the wood for it. I was shocked, Elder trees are notorious for never giving up wood even though they heal so easily,” Ollivander continued, even as James and Rostrata gasped at the mention of an elder tree. “You must truly have our Lady’s favor for Elder is her tree. You will do truly great things, young Mister Potter. For that is a truly great wand. But beware, the wand has a brother. The phoenix that gave the core feather for that wand gave just one other feather. That other feather went into the wand that tore your family asunder.”

“NO! He won’t take it! Find him another!” James bellowed causing Harry to flinch away.

“James, quiet! You know he can’t, that is his wand and no other will do until he graduates,” Rostrata said forcefully.

“Dad, you’re scaring Harry. And me,” Fidelia voiced as she pulled Harry into a one armed hug, slightly glaring at her father.

James looked to be forcefully calming himself before sighed and knelt in front of Harry, “I’m sorry I lost my temper, I was just shocked. Voldemort did terrible things. It’s aggravating that he seems somehow tied to our family. Harry, will you promise me you won’t use your wand like that monster did?” Harry nodded, still too afraid to speak. Harry stared at his wand, somewhat sickened at the connection between it and the man that ruined his life. But more than sickened, he felt resolve form in his being. If this was such a great wand, then Harry would do great things with it. He would be great, great enough to overshadow this Voldemort person. No one would remember him except in connection to Harry. 

As they paid and left, Harry had more than just a new wand. He had a new goal.

—————————

After the climactic wand purchase, the rest of shopping seemed mundane. Except for what might have been Harry’s favorite part of the day: seeing the optomancer. Which was apparently the magical eye-doctor. Who had been shocked at the huge dissonance between Harry’s glasses’ prescription was and what Harry needed. With a fitting prescription, Harry’s vision was so clear he almost cried at how much better everything looked and how crisp the world became. He left the shop with three pairs of glasses each with different frames and all that had various enchantments, like tinting in the sunlight, night vision, and self-cleaning. Apparently he could get one that detected auras when he was older. He had wondered aloud why all wizards didn’t wear glasses if they could have cool enchantments like that, which earned a laugh from the optomancer who agreed with Harry. Though Harry thought that might have more to do with wanting more business than anything. All his glasses could be kept in a single case that was had the Potter family crest on it and enchanted to not get lost.

By the end of the shopping spree, Harry was overwhelmed. Somewhat by the magical world and somewhat by the paradigm shift that was his new family. But all odd things must come to an end and eventually it was time for St. Mungo’s. Delia was dropped off back at the manor with Calder and Erastus, who had opted out of the shopping adventure.  Harry wished that he could opt out of this next part; because as overwhelmed as shopping for himself made him, he just knew that this next part would be several times worse. 

Harry couldn’t remember the last time he was in a hospital, he vaguely doubted he had ever even been. As much damage as the Dursleys did to his body, it never seemed to be enough or last long enough to warrant a visit to the hospital. His magic presumably saved him from the brunt of the damage, and doctors probably would have found out about the abuse if he had actually been taken, Harry mused. As Harry, James, and Rostrata sat in a waiting room for their names to be called for the Potter’s family doctor, Harry figured he hadn’t been missing out on much. Everything, from the seating to the walls and even the secretary seemed overly sanitized and bland. Healing was supposed to happen here? Everything in this place put Harry on edge, even with the James sending out calming pheromones to the youngest omega of his family. At long last, the Potters were called in. They were the last ones for the evening and, Harry gathered, his checkup happening so soon after his entrance into the magical world was because the Potters were close friends with their children’s doctor, Dr. DeTriste. 

“Hello, Harry. It’s nice to meet you,” the middle-aged Healer said, holding out her hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, too Dr. DeTriste,” Harry replied politely and professionally, which was more adorable coming from an 11 year old than Harry realized.

“It’s actually Healer DeTriste. While I am the Wizarding World’s equivalent to a doctor we are referred to as Healers; we don’t go around cutting people up to help them. We heal. I am going to be running some diagnostic spells on you, just to see where you are in terms of development and general health. If there are any problem areas, I’ll assign some potions to get you back up to speed. Do you have any questions before we begin,” Healer DeTriste asked in the nice, if patronizing way that doctors sometimes have with children.

“What sort of potions? I’m fairly new to this whole magic thing. It’s not just that I put a lime in a coconut and shake it all up, right? What does it take to become a healer? Cause no offensive, but you’re like  _ literally _ a witch-doctor,” Harry asked, feeling defensive and worried what the diagnostic spells would show. What if he failed these magic tests, that they showed that he really was a magicless? Would he be sent back to the Dursleys?

Thankfully for the mildly embarrassed James and Rostrata, who were still unused to the sass their newest family member would occasionally demonstrate, Healer DeTriste just laughed at Harry’s cheek.

“Those are some good questions, Harry. There are schools sort of like Muggle University for different specialties beyond what would be taught at Hogwarts or Beuxbatons. I went to the Apollo Institute in Greece where I learned all sorts of healing arts and magics which was followed by something similar to what I believe the Muggles call a ‘residency’. We call it an apprenticeship where I shadowed an established Healer before taking on more and more responsibilities. As for the potions, I can guarantee that they’re more complicated than a lime in a coconut. I might assign you a nutrient potion, for example, if I think you are low on vitamins and such. Or a sleeping potion if you’re not getting enough sleep. You’ll be learning about them and how to make them yourself at Hogwarts. Does that pass muster?” Healer DeTriste explained in a more adult tone which eased Harry’s ruffled feathers even as Harry realized that he was probably being somewhat childish. He nodded mutely for her to continue with the diagnostic spells.

Healer DeTriste pulled out her wand and what looked like a piece of paper, but not the kind you’d find in any modern store. the edges weren’t neat and it was much thicker paper. She had Harry stand in the center of the room in the middle of a circle of what looked like inlaid silver in some sort of intricate design. Healer DeTriste walked around the outside of the circle speaking in a low voice that echoed oddly in such a small room, while she walked she drew symbols in the air with her wand that floated in the air like the after image of a sparkler being waved about by excited children. It took probably no more than a few minutes and at the end she threw the piece of parchment over Harry’s head where it floated down into Harry’s hands, no longer blank but filled with information on Harry. Before the paper was gently pried from Harry’s hands, he made out the words “malnourished,” “broken,” and “stunted.” None of which went to alleviate any of Harry’s fears about being abandoned once again after this testing. Harry watched as Healer DeTriste’s face went from friendly to professionally neutral, solidifying his fears. The minutes ticked by as the adults read the paper, conferred in whispers, and generally seemed displeased.

“I’m not going back!” Harry suddenly shouted, startling the adults.

“Harry, sweetie, what are you talking about?” Rostrata asked gently.

“I don’t care what that paper says! Even if I don’t have magic and you don’t want me again, I’m not going back! After taking me away to this magical place, even for a little bit, they’ll hate me even more. Even if I’m broken and don’t have magic, please don’t send me back. Please! I can cook and clean and and… and I’m smart! I swear I am! My grades but that’s cause of Dudley and please don’t send me back. I’ll die if you do, please…” Harry’s pleas soon devolved into broken sobs, breaking the hearts of all three adults. James and Rostrata quickly enclosed Harry in a hug, piled on the floor of Healer DeTriste who looked on morosely at the broken family.

“You’re not a squib, Harry. In fact, you have quite the magical core. You’d need to have a strong magical core in order to get accepted into Hogwarts. Your magic is also why the…people who did this to you didn’t end up killing you,” DeTriste spoke after Harry had calmed down and gone boneless in his new parents embrace. “What they did to you. It’s ghastly, and I’ll be writing a report for James to take to the Muggle authorities so that those people will face justice. And in the mean time we’ll start you on a potion regimen to mitigate the damage they did to your body…but you need to know that there is only so much we can do. Malnourishment and starvation at early developmental stages are pretty serious issues that can cause issues later in life, including problems to your body and magical core. I’m not trying to scare you, but I do want to emphasize how important keeping to the potion regimen is in order to give you the best chance at a healthy life later. Okay?” At Harry’s nod, she continued on though looking more towards James and Rose, “I’ll write up the prescriptions and when he should take the potions. You can pick them up at any apothecary. I think we’ve done enough for today. I’ll contact Poppy to check up on him at Hogwarts and to make sure he keeps up with the potions. In the mean time, I think you all have a lot to talk about and a lot of healing to do.”

After Harry had regained composure, the Potters picked up his prescription, and decided ice cream was in order to try to cheer up the emotionally raw child. As the trio was sitting in the ice-cream parlor, enjoying their sweet treats, an awkward silence fell. Eventually Harry’s omega instincts to keep his family happy perked up and he felt the need to break the silence.

“What did Healer DeTriste mean when she said that I’d need a strong magical core to get into Hogwarts?” Harry asked, thinking it was probably important information and not wanting to approach the elephant in the room: the abuse he suffered at the Dursley’s hands.

“Hmmm? Oh well, everyones magical core is different. Some are have great reserves, some recover quickly, some lend towards certain types of magic…no two cores are the same,” James attempted to explain, though Harry was more confused than ever.

“Ummmm…what? How does magic work? Why can we use magic and Muggles can’t?” Harry inquired, genuinely interested and finally forgetting about his outburst earlier.

Rostrata chuckled before replying, “Well one difference between us is that Muggles only have to give one ‘Talk,’ whereas we also have to give a ‘Talk’ about magic and its proper use.” Both she and James laughed lightly at the shade of red Harry turned at the mention of the first  _ Talk. _

“Uhhh…I’ve g-got an understanding of that first talk. They gave us all pamphlets this year at school and… yeah,” Harry stuttered out quickly, mortified at the idea of these strangers/family members talking about  _ that. _

“As enlightening as those pamphlets no doubt were, we will have discussion about that. Later. No need to combust,” James teased.

“All joking aside,” Rostrata started, taking pity on the red faced omega, “in all honesty, we’re not entirely sure why some people have magic and others don’t. Even in the magical theory classes you’ll take later in your Hogwarts career, you’ll see that there’s more we don’t know about magic than what we do. Part of it is definitely based on blood. We know that some of us can absorb the natural energy that permeates everything, though like James mentioned, some people can build up that magic faster than others. And we can store it — again some people can store more than others— to use for later. Once stored the natural magic changes, becomes personalized which is why everyone has their own magical signature. Take Healer DeTriste for an example, her magic will always come out more ready to help than harm. Dark wizards have magic that comes out ready to hurt others. In order to achieve the standard that Hogwarts holds its students, you need a strong magical core. One capable of holding lot of magic and replenishing it quickly. Hogwarts only takes the most promising witches and wizards, regardless of family. There is a whole spectrum of magical people between Hogwarts students and Muggles or Squibs. Those above squibs and below Hogwarts students, in terms of magical power, tend to get home-schooled in Covens. They have traditions and magics that can be highly specialized and that you just won’t find at Hogwarts.”

“Yeah, we have a plenty of Covenant alphas on the force. They’ve got family on the force going back generations, have great battle magic. But couldn’t change a toothpick into a needle to save their lives,” James joked, sounding a bit elitist to Harry.

“Force? Covenants? And what’s a squib?” Harry prompted, curious.

“James here is the Head Auror. Aurors are sort of like the Muggle police,” Rostrata explained, clearly proud of her husband.

“A squib is a person born of a magical family, but doesn’t have a magical core. They’re essentially muggles born to magical families; the opposite of muggleborns. Covenants are what magical folk taught in covens are called, there’s a bit of a hierarchy of magic. The higher up you are, the more magic you can use and the fewer peers you have. People like Dumbledore are at the top and wield a lot of power,” James explained.

“You thought I was a squib,” Harry whispered after a minute of eerie quiet, he said it so softly that the adults could barely hear him, “That’s why you didn’t want me.”

“I think this is a conversation better suited for home rather than an ice cream parlor, don’t you?” Rostrata said gently. After a round of nods, James got up to pay. As they moved towards the Disapparation point in Diagon Alley, no one spoke. They were all too anxious about the upcoming discussion on why Harry had been left to be raised by his relatives instead of his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Jk Rowling says that wizards are out numered by muggles 10:1. That means there's a metric fuck-tonne of magical people. Like, 1/11 of the population of the earth is a wizard or witch? That's hundreds of MILLIONS of witches. Making the statue of Secrecy SO much more impressive. Not mention, in the UK there'd be 6,000,000 and assuming that the magical world has a slow (or even negative) growth rate that's about 400,000 Hogwarts aged witches and Wizards in the Uk. There's not that many at Hogwarts. Each house would be it's own city of 100,000. Hogwarts houses at MOST 0.25% of the school aged magic folk of the Uk. Where are the rest? Home schooled? Hedge witching it, Magicians style? Other schools? Why aren't they competing against hogwarts in quidditch? So I went with sorta home-schooled in Covens.
> 
> So Harry is def gonna use muggle slang a lot, partially just to be a shit and confuse magic folk. And also that's what he was raised with, what he heard older students using, what he heard on TV, and what he may have tried to emulate in order to fit in. Though he will also use magical slang later, again to fit in.
> 
> I'd imagine the House rivalry thing is very specific to Hogwarts and that everyone else in the magical community rolls their eyes at it.
> 
> Celtic tree lore is fascinating and you should totes look it up.
> 
> So I'm trying my own take on the magic system that Rowling made, making it harder. Also look up hard vs soft magic systems, it's cool if you're a literary nerd.


	7. Of war and abandonment

In the family room of Potter Manor, James had called a house elf for tea service for himself, his wife, and his omega son. The same omega son that he was now going to have a difficult talk with about why said son was left with muggle relatives. James cursed himself and the situation while preparing himself. He brought up his Occlumency shield in preparation; talking about Lily was always hard and he didn’t need his own pain to leak out. Omegas tended to be the most empathetic of the dynamics.

After the three were as comfortable as they were going to be, with Rostrata holding James’ hand on the couch and Harry perched on his recliner. She knew how hard this was going to be for both of them, but knew she could only comfort James. Everything about Harry, from his body language to his aura said, ‘Do not touch. Do not approach. Danger.’

“Before I tell you why we…why _I_ sent you to live with the Dursley’s there is something you need to know first,” James began slowly, “As you know, Rostrata is my second wife. My first wife, your mother, was named Lily. She is… was Petunia’s sister. I knew that she and Petunia didn’t get along, but I thought it was normal sibling rivalry and was assured that she would take good care of you. But I’m jumping the gun a bit,” James let out a sigh before continuing on with the clearly painful topic, “About ten years ago, when you were still a baby, the Wizarding World was in the middle of a civil war. On the one side was a group of dark wizards and witches, in league with all number of dark things, fighting for a madman. It’s…people don’t like hearing his name. In the war, it was said that speaking his name would bring Death-Eaters—what his followers were called— to your home. People thought that he was so evil and so powerful that he had transcended merely being a Dark wizard and become some sort of demon whose very name could summon death upon your family. That was just a rumor to spread fear, but regardlesss, names have power. The fear surrounding that man and his name still linger today, but a wise man I know has always said that fearing the name just gives power to the man. The Dark Lord was named Voldemort,” James said with steel in his voice even as Rostrata grimaced at the name, as if it hurt to hear. 

“It’s a social faux pax to say that name, Harry, most decent people refer to him as You-Know-Who and those who are more…darkly inclined call him the 'Dark Lord',” Rostrata added, which Harry nodded at. He wasn’t intending to be a radical in this new world. Harry mostly just wanted to fit in.

“Voldemort,” James began again, and again Rose’s face did an odd twitched, “was opposed by our side, the Light side. While the Ministry did it’s best to combat Him, there were too many sympathizers and corruption for it to be effective. So Dumbledore,” James said that name again and with such pride that Harry was intrigued by this Dumbledore, “created the Order of the Phoenix. Now I’m telling you this, but I expect you to keep it a secret. Not many knew about the Order and we would like to keep it that way,” James said before continuing after a nod from Harry. “Our Order fought the Dark side for years. But to be frank, we were losing. Badly. The other side had better resources and were willing to use magic that was…awful,” James shuddered at whatever memories he was caught in before reeling himself back to the present, “but eventually, like our Namesake, our hopes were renewed from the ashes of sure defeat. Word of a prophecy reached Dumbledore, that children had been born capable of defeating the Dark Lord: the triplets. Once they were born though, for awhile we stayed here, sure that the Potter ancestral home would keep us safe. But the Dark had people with Potter blood. Distant cousins who were willing to shed their own kin’s blood here in our ancestral home in the name of a murdering tyrant,” while James’ face and voice remained fairly neutral, it seemed fake to Harry. As if there was rage and disgust somewhere in James, just hiding. 

“After that, we went to a cottage that we had inherited from some distant ancestor that I didn’t even know about until I needed it. Not willing to rely on solely on anonymity we also had the cottage placed under the Fidelius Charm. A powerful spell that places the entirety of a secret into one soul: the Secret Keeper. To find a place under that charm, the secret has to be willing given,” again his father had an absent fury. It was almost more frightening than obvious anger.

“We had been there for months and thought we were safe, but our Secret Keeper had betrayed us. And Voldemort was just biding his time. Waiting for Samhain. Lily never partook in the Olde Rites, her roots were muggle after all. So she stayed with you and the triplets as I went to a Samhain ritual. It was a war and there were so many dead; Samhain of all the Sabbats seemed important. I wanted to honor the fallen, pray that they entered the Lands of the Ancestors. If I just…” James paused to sigh, and said resignedly “If I was there I would probably be dead. Voldemort was one of the most powerful wizards to ever walk the earth. Voldemort attacked the cottage, intending to do some dark perversion of a Samhain ritual sacrificing those who were prophesied to defeat him. Lily died, protecting you children. No one is quite certain what exactly happened next. Whatever He intended or whatever rites he attempted failed. Three is a powerful number, and a trifecta of Alpha, Beta, and Omega is even more so; even without the prophecy your siblings would be seen by most as blessed. The triplets magic, fueled by their mother’s death, created some protective force so strong that it defeated the Dark Lord and saved all of your lives. You were so young and after being exposed to so much magic, especially His Dark magic, we thought your magical core was destroyed. Dumbledore tested you himself. You didn’t have a magical core anymore. Voldemort’s attack killed Lily and left you a squib,” James’ voice was totally devoid of emotion, it was such a stark contrast from the normally boisterous and jovial alpha.

“Harry, dear, you have to understand that squibs have a _hard_ life if they remain in the Wizarding World. They either take menial jobs and become so full of bitterness and resentment that an alarmingly disproportionate number take their own lives. Or they leave the magical world to live with muggles and cut all the magic out of their lives; often cutting their families out completely. Imagine knowing about magic and not having any. All that wonder just out of reach while everyone you know and love revels in it. It’s,” Rostrata paused, looking for the right word, “cruel. And it has been the custom for centuries that squibs are given up to live muggle lives as babies. No parent ever wants to, and it is often described as the hardest thing to possibly do. But the Squibs who grow up not knowing about magic are far and away happier than those who were kept by their blood families. Sometimes parents would check on their children later in their children’s lives. That’s actually where the ‘Fairy Godmother’ came from; witches helping their squib children. But most of the time it’s too hard on the parent and it can cause the parent’s magic to act up. When part of your family has been gone for so long, especially for omegas, your magic reacts instinctively to grasp on and never let the child go again. Even if, in the long run, it is worse for the child. James did get reports on how you were doing from Petunia, she…she made it seem like you were thriving. And she never mentioned even a hint of accidental magic. We thought it would be best for you, if we stayed away…”

“Your mom being a witch and your aunt being a muggle was what caused the rift between them to begin with and caused their relationship to be what it was,” James added. Which really hit Harry. If just knowing about magic and not having it could turn someone into the woman that Petunia was, maybe his father had made the right choice. But…he wasn’t a squib. And he definitely wasn’t happier for having lived with muggles. Harry was torn.

“I,” Harry began, searching for what to say before deciding to take up the better part of valor, “think I understand. What you did and why you did it. I just need some time alone,” Harry said as he got up and went to his room, barely looking at the people who he was so torn up about. His omega side desperately wanted a loving family that they seemed to want to offer him. But the time with the Dursley’s made him too wary. He needed time to think and reign in his emotions.

Curled up in his new nest, practically swimming in pillows, Harry finally got to talk to his familiar. “ _Cujo, what did you think of today?”_

 _“Bag is good. Fun to be in while you slither,”_ Cujo responded happily.

 _“Humans walk, they don’t slither. Did you hear much of what James, Rose, and I talked about?”_ Harry asked, which was by far the most important part of today in Harry’s mind.

 _“Yes.”  
“Did you understand much?” _ Harry asked with a sigh, always forgetting how literal he needed to be with the snake.

_“No”_

_“Yeah, to be fair, I’m not sure how much I understood either,”_ Harry said despondently. _“On the one hand, I think he genuinely wanted what was best for me. On the other, he did a shite job of protecting me, and isn’t that what alphas are supposed to do? How am I supposed to become a part of the family with this hanging over us all the time. That he failed me.”_

 _“Bite him,”_ Cujo helpfully prompted.

 _“Maybeeee, but that’ll be a last resort. Before that should I try to forgive and forget? Use this against him later? Can you do a family part way or is all or nothing?”_ Harry asked, not really expecting a response. Cujo tended to ignore questions he couldn’t answer. And if Harry couldn’t answer them, he didn’t really think his young snake had much chance.

 _“Hatchlings harm Harry?”_ Cujo asked, which Harry was pretty sure meant, ‘Are the kids alright?’

 _“My…potential siblings haven’t hurt me, no. They were just babies when I was given away,”_ Harry responded as he stared at the ceiling of his nesting room. He absently wondered what Fidelia’s nesting space was like and how it was decorated. He felt a sad pang in his chest, he shouldn’t have to wonder what his sister’s nesting area was like. He, as an omega brother, should’ve known it well and felt comfortable there. He had seen that sort of omega sibling familiarity on TV and had always wanted that for himself. But he didn’t have it here because he was a stranger in this home and family.

 _“Hatchlings nice Harry?”_ Now that was definitely Cujo-speak for ‘Are the kids alright?’

 _“Well most of them are nice, but Erastus is a jerk. But they’re all just kids, they’ve led easy lives. They don’t have any real power over me, but James and Rostrata do. They’re the ones I need to like me and it would be nice if I liked them back,”_ Harry clarified.

 _“Big grown protect hatchlings,”_ Cujo said as if whatever he just said was obvious.

 _“People fail. In this case, the adults—the big growns— failed to protect me,”_ Harry said despondently.

After a long pause Cujo said, _“Fail before. Harry hatches Cujo. Not fail now.”_

Harry smiled at his friend _, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe everything happens for a reason— that is what you meant, right? Whatever the reason, I have you now and I am happy for it. I guess I’ll just take these people one day at a time and deal with whatever happens next. Goodnight, Cujo.”_

_“Goodnight, Harry.”_


	8. First Train Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry for not updating this up sooner. But I've had a lot of family events to go to and I GOT A JOB!! It has benefits and I enjoy the work so far and I'm employed. So I've been focusing on that. But I have a long commute, most of which is on the subway. So I've started to write on there to minimize interaction with other people. Anyway, hopefully updates will happen semi-regularly. Also, thank you all for your lovely comments. They mean the world to me.

The weeks leading up to leaving for Hogwarts were, for lack of a better word, magical. He explored the estate, often by playing games with Maria. His youngest sister seemed most taken with him of all the siblings. Harry thought that might have to do with him being a male omega and her being a female alpha, they were rarities. Both of those dynamics blended masculine and feminine traits which confused some people. Some people tended to treat male omegas as girls and alpha females as boys, but that just wasn’t the case. The rarity bred a certain level of camaraderie, Harry thought. Or she was just excited to have someone new to play with. Not that Harry was complaining, learning about his new surroundings, specifically escape routes, never hurt. Cujo also loved exploring and hunting new prey. He claimed the mice and frogs on the Potter’s property were more fun to hunt than the prey in the park. 

Harry also had nearly unfettered access to most of the Potter’s library. Apparently there were more dangerous books that kept in vaults or in James’ study. Not that Harry wanted to read those books…yet. For now he had plenty to catch up with. Magical families supposedly didn’t let their kids study much magic before 11 years old because the temptation to practice would be too great for children to resist and using magic as a child could seriously effect the magical core development.But Harry had trouble believing that was universally true and Harry didn’t want to be too far behind other student. Though he knew he’d be hopelessly behind all the magically raised students in some regards, especially languages. Apparently magical families had schools for their pre-Hogwarts aged children that taught magical history, extensive foreign languages— like Latin, French, and Greek—, basic math, and etiquette. 

If Harry was being honest, it wasn’t just that he wanted to not be too far behind other students, but that he wanted to _surpass_ other students. He wanted to be the best. And he wanted the power that magical knowledge seemed to radiate. There were spells that would have made his life at the Dursleys significantly easier and also that raised the question of why house-elves were needed; spells to clean and cook, magic to make the household run smoothly. This magic appealed to his omega side and the darker part of his mind that whispered that he might still wind up back with the Dursleys again. With all the time spent in the library reading about magic, history, and creatures as well as time spent playing with Maria, Harry always went to bed happily exhausted. James and Rostrata were elated to see Harry getting stronger almost daily, he was eating more and seemed to have more energy. They had an awkward conversation with Harry when he had asked for coffee with his breakfast, apparently Petunia had gotten him hooked so that he would do his early morning chores with more attention. They had wanted to say no, which was surprisingly difficult to this child they felt they had failed so miserably even if they knew boundaries and structure were important for children. But Harry had argued that one cup in the morning wouldn’t hurt him and had quoted some muggle science that said there wasn’t any problems with kids having limited intake. Not to mention his intense puppy-dog eyes. They eventually relented which led to the triplets demanding coffee too, which they had been previously denied until they were 13. James and Rose were amused by Fidelia’s and Erastus’ grimace at the taste and concerned at Calder’s nonplussed face. James sighed, Ravenclaws were notorious coffee addicts and if that’s the worst Calder got up to then James would count it as a win. Especially considering the shenanigans the triplets went through in their first year. 

Eventually the big day came for Harry and the triplets to head to Hogwarts. It didn’t make much sense to Harry why they flooed, an instantaneous form of travel, down to London from Scotland just to ride in a train _back up to Scotland._ A ride that took hours. Hours trapped on a train with a bunch of teenagers—plus a hefty number of preteens— who were all very energetic from seeing their friends and returning to school after long summer months. Harry supposed it had to do with tradition and Harry already figured out that the magical world was into tradition in a big way. Honestly, tradition is the only explanation that Harry could come up for a lot of the wizarding oddities. Like platform 9 3/4. Not 9 1/2. No, it had to be three quarters. Sure the wall-entrance was slightly closer to platform 10, but that was mostly because the other half of the wall was guarded by rubbish bins.

Despite James Potter being the sort to arrive somewhat late, the Potter family had managed to make it to the Platform with plenty of time to store luggage and put Harry into another awkward situation: saying goodbye. He saw plenty of other children saying goodbye to their parents before rushing off to see their friends. Those children had a sound and secure relationship with their parents, Harry decided. A stark contrast to the rocky, uncertain relationship he enjoyed with his parents. It took a healthy dose of denial to ignore the twisting, unpleasant feeling of envy when seeing these happy families. But Harry, having mastered putting on the face that was expected by adults before he mastered reading put on his best, ‘I’m-a-bit-scared-but-mostly-excited’ face and said goodbye to his family. It was awkward in its cordiality. Maybe when they had known each other for longer than a month, they’d be better at this whole family thing.

“Be sure to write us, kids, and not just when things go wrong. Or if another troll shows up. And take care of each other, look out for Harry. And learn a lot. And have fun,” Rostrata was in full mother mode, holding back tears at her children leaving home while still reminding them of things they had already been told multiple times as they were boarding the train.

“We know mooom, and don’t worry. I’ll keep everyone in line,” Fidelia promised.

“I’ll look out for everyone too,” Erastus echoed, though Harry wasn’t certain if ‘everyone’ included him.

“I’ll be the reasonable one,” Calder smirked, earning an eye roll form his siblings.

“I’ll….do my best?” Harry said, feeling the need to contribute something.

“Good, now run along. I know how much you missed your friends. But look after Harry. And we love you,” James said with a shooing motion but a twinkle in his eye that looked suspiciously like they could have been tears.

Harry was slightly annoyed at being treated so fragile that he needed to be ‘looked after.’ He had been on his own in school situations plenty already, thank you very much. Plus without Dudley, he’d have an even easier time. Probably.

As Harry mulled over how independent he was, he barely noticed when Calder and Erastus bid hasty ‘goodbyes’ before going to find their friends.  Leaving the two omegas, which didn’t seem to bother Fidelia but Harry suddenly felt very much like an annoying younger brother helplessly following his sister as she looked for her friends.

“Well if it isn’t-“

“The cutest and most frightening-“

  
“Of the Golden Triplets-“

“Plus a ickle firstie-“

“Delia, who is your-“

“Friend here?”

Two red headed twins, somewhat older than the triplets, sand out in some odd twin-speak. Whether it was practiced, improv, or maybe a telepathic link, Harry wasn’t sure. With magic, he supposed, anything was possible. 

“Well if it isn’t Calder’s favorite Weasley’s plus a firstie of your own,” Fidelia said, smiling at the young red-headed girl who was behind the twins looking a little uncertain. “This here is Harry, my youngest brother. Harry this is Fred and George— no idea which one is which— they’re two years older than me and some of Hogwarts’ biggest pranksters. Calder idolizes them,” Fidelia introduced, pulling Harry into a one armed hug.

“My word! Another Potter!” one of the twins gasped, feigning shock.

“Shame upon Calder for never mentioning that another of Prong’s heirs would be joining us this year-“  
“It’s like the hours we spent sowing him the castle and pulling pranks on those snakes-“

“Meant nothing to him. I feel used, Gred,”

“Me too Forge. This calls for,”

“REVENGE,” the twins finished together with a flourish before literally disappearing in a puff of smoke. Apparently wizards and stage magicians shared a few things in common.

“Ummm….Hi, my name is Ginny,” the young red head said, holding out her hand ramrod straight while her back was stiff as a board.

“Hiya, Ginny. You must be the youngest Weasley, I’ve heard a bit about you from the twins and Ron. My name is Fidelia, but you can call me Delia. It’s nice to meet you,” Fidelia beamed, shaking the younger girls hand.

“And I’m Harry,” Harry said taking the proffered hand after Fidelia.

After and awkward silence Fidelia happily squealed at seeing someone before rushing off while saying, “Have fun you two! Your first train ride is great time to make friends before house rivalries kick in! Bye!” Leaving the two younger preteens to awkwardly stare at each other, wondering what to do next.

“Guess we should find a compartment…?” Harry tentatively offered, not sure if this girl would want to sit for 10 hours with a near perfect stranger.

“Yeah, there are a few empty ones back that way,” Ginny pointed behind her.

“Lead the way,” Harry smiled, excited and nervous at the prospect of making a friend all on his own.

As they went back the way Ginny came, they saw a mostly empty compartment with a single, nervous looking first year. Exchanging a glance, they decided now was as good as any to make those friends that Fidelia mentioned. Ginny knocked on the compartment door before sticking her head in.

“Hello, do you mind if we sit in here?” Ginny asked.

“Oh no, please come in,” the boy said, with a nervous sweep of his hands indicating they could take a seat. The boy still had plenty of baby fat, giving his face a youthful look while still being infuriatingly taller than Harry.

As Harry entered, he stuck out his hand and introduced himself, “Hi, my name is Harry Potter. What’s yours?”

“Nice to meet you Harry, my name is Justin. Justin Finch-Fletchley. And what’s your name? Miss….,” Justin said, taking Harry hand before turning towards Ginny.

“Ginerva Weasley, but call me Ginny or I’ll hex you into next week,” Ginny said oddly cheerily. Harry tried not to snicker at the other boys face as it flushed.

“Oh so you already know hexes? I’m muggleborn. That’s the right term, isn’t it? Quite a surprise when I received my invitation to Hogwarts. I was all ready to go to Eton, just like my father did, then an _owl_ shows up and apparently I’m a wizard. My mother almost didn’t let me go, Eton is a very great muggle school you know. But when looking through the course books, she was sold. Our defense teacher, that Mr. Lockhart fellow, he really impressed her. Said it would be a shame to deprive me of the adventures he wrote about,” as Justin spoke, Harry could tell he had grown up with money. Even before he mentioned Eton. Which made Harry slightly uncomfortable.

“Oh! You’re muggleborn! So you would know what a rubber duck is for! My dad deals with enchanted muggle artifacts, and he’s got a bit of an obsession with figuring out what they were originally for. Plus sometimes seeing how to make the enchantments better,” Ginny exclaimed, though she whispered the last bit conspiratorially.

“I was…umm… I was actually raised by muggles you know. Didn’t find out about the magical world until really recently too. And rubber ducks are just a bath toy,” Harry managed, somewhat uncertain what he wanted to reveal about his past to these strangers.

“But I thought you were the triplets brother?” Ginny said, clearly confused.

“They thought I was a squib so they sent me to live with some muggle relatives. I didn’t even know that my dad was alive or that I had siblings until this summer,” Harry said calmly, not betraying the feelings twisting in his stomach at the admission. 

“Oh…where did you go to school then?” Justin asked, tactfully changing the subject.

“St. Grogory’s Primary, if you were heading to Eton I doubt you’ve heard of it,” Harry joked.

“Ahh, no. Sorry. But it is nice to know that I’m not the only one without a magical background. I was worried I’d be dreadfully behind everyone else,” Justin bemoaned.

“Yeah, I know whatcha mean. I spent a lot of time studying when I was with the Potter’s. Also I hope my first year involves fewer brushes with death than my siblings,” Harry smirked, but tried to keep his sometimes morbid sense of humor in check.

“Well you definitely won’t be a Gryffindor then, no sense of adventure,” Ginny teased before adding, “the way Ron described last year, it was a grand adventure. Though my mum’s wand practically lit on fire hearing about what all he and your siblings got up to last year.”  
“Near death? And what did they get up to? My old school didn’t have any near death experiences,” Justin said uncertainly.

Harry and Ginny shared a look before Harry motioned for her to tell the story.

“Well the Headmaster— that’s Dumbledore— was friends with Nicholas Flamel and they hid the Philosopher’s Stone in Hogwarts because it was in danger of being stolen. Someone actually managed to break into Gringott’s for it. If you can believe it,” Harry and Justin, not having much experience with Gringott’s could in fact believe it. Ginny continued, ignoring the boys' shared shrug, “It turns out the old Defense professor, Quirrel, was possessed by You-Know-Who,” Ginny’s voice had taken on the tone of telling a ghost story and was a bit put out by Justin’s interruption.

“I, actually, don’t know who?”

“Oh, right. Muggleborn. He was this Dark wizard who tried to take over Britain and was defeated by Harry’s siblings when they were toddlers. All Muggleborns should learn about him, he tried to do some really bad things to them-you. But Harry's siblings are the Blessed Trinity and their magic protected them against You-Know-Who’s dark magic and vanquished him! They’re the saviours of the magical world!” Ginny’s said, admiration clear in her tone.

“And he’s what? A ghost or something?” Justin asked.

“I dunno. Ron just said that Erastus said that he was in the back of Quirrel’s head. But he was after the Philosopher’s Stone to return to life and resume his plans for dominating the wizarding world,” Ginny was somewhat annoyed that Justin clearly wasn’t properly awed.

“My siblings decided that if they beat him once as toddlers, they could do it again as kids. So they went after him when he went after the stone and nearly got killed. Not trusting adults is one thing, they’re idiots, but to run after the wizarding version of Hitler on your own just seems dumb,” Harry not-quite sneered, but he clearly wasn’t impressed with the decisions made that night.

“Yup, definitely not a Gryffindor,” Ginny laughed before resignedly sighing, “It’d be nice not to end up there.”

“You don’t want to go to Gryffindor? And why do you think you’ll end up there?” Justin asked, confused. “I skimmed Hogwarts: A History about the houses and it seems the best house.”

At that Harry snorted, “Sure the most recent edition blatantly favors Gryffindor and dislikes Slytherin, but earlier editions have different biases.”

“Wow, you sound like Tom: a swot. If you’re already reading numerous editions of the most boring book assigned to first years, I’ll bet you’re in Ravenclaw,” Ginny’s eye roll was quite impressive and the boys were vaguely concerned that eyes shouldn’t roll _that_ far back into a person’s head.

“Maybe, I will be in Ravenclaw. But I mostly read all that because I don’t like being told what to think and that’s what the most recent edition was doing. It essentially said that Gryffindor was the best and Slytherin was the worst. So I looked at the House descriptions in previous editions that the Potter library has and before the forties Slytherin was the most desired house. The most elite and exclusive. It’s the House that produced Merlin and a lot of people who world leaders and innovators,” Harry said, with a hint of fire in his voice. He didn’t like it when people bullied or made assumptions about someone—or a group of someones. Plus he was fond of snakes and didn’t like the idea of the House of snakes being picked on.

“Ugh…then that’s the house my parents would want me in. They want me to take over the family business one day and I think they hope I’ll be expand into a magical sector when I do,” Justin groaned.

“Yeah, but…but You-Know-Who came from that House,” Ginny whispered, like they were talking about something forbidden.

“He also came from Hogwarts, but we’re all still going there. We’ll be taking the same classes he took and learning the same things he did. Sleeping in the dungeons or sleeping in a tower isn’t going to determine if you turn into a super villain. And it’s not like the other Houses haven’t produced their share of Dark wizards and witches,” Harry argued.

“Wait, the dungeons? Like literal dungeons? They make kids sleep in dungeons?” Justin asked, concern splashed on his face.

“I think that by dungeons it really means the basement. Just that the basement of a castle, like Hogwarts, is considered a dungeon,” Harry reassured.

An awkward silence fell as Justin considered what he had gotten himself into by going to a school with dungeons, Harry wondered if he was doing ok making friends, and Ginny had to reevaluate he conceptions of the Houses. Fortunately it didn’t last long as an elderly witch popped her head in and offered something no 11 year old could resist: candy. And as Harry and Justin had more money than experience with magical candy,  they bought more than was wholly healthy or sensible. Justin waved away Ginny’s concerns about paying them back by saying it was her payment for being a candy consultant which mostly confused her as to what a consultant was and why they were paid well. Justin, in turn, was confused by magical candy in general. 

“It just seems…wrong to eat something that’s still alive! I didn’t even like video games that you had to kill people and stuff. Yes they are pixelated, but they’re still people. Killing a frog by biting its head off is just barbaric,” Justin bemoaned.

“Whelp, you’re definitely a Hufflepuff,” Ginny grinned.

“Well if they respect life, then I’ll happily be a Hufflepuff,” Justin said resolutely. “By the way, what House do you two want to be in? Harry seemed partial to Slytherin, is that the one you want?”

“I’d be fine in any of them. I have siblings in three of them and it would be kinda nice to  get to bond with at least one of them over being in the same house. We didn’t grow up together so it’d be more like growing up with them if I did end up in any of those three….well maybe not Gryffindor. Erastus doesn’t seem overly fond of me,” Harry admitted.

“Well if you do end up in Gryffindor, you can grow up with me,” Ginny said pleasantly.

“You are awfully certain about getting into Gryffindor,” Justin mused.

“I have six older brothers and they have all been in Gryffindor. Not to mention both of my parents. I’m practically destined for the Lion’s den. Even if Gryffindor red clashes horribly with my hair,” Ginny replied morosely.

“You’re your own person, though. Screw what everyone expects of you, do what makes you happy. You’ll have to live there for the next 7 years, best be in a house you’ll enjoy. Besides, the sorting hat might put you in a different house,” Harry said encouragingly.

“Maybe… we’ll find out soon enough. It’s about time to switch into our robes, Justin why don’t you head out while Harry and I change then we’ll switch?” Ginny suggested.

At the suggestion Justin’s face turned a similar shade of red as Ginny’s hair before realization plainly dawned on his face and he blurted out towards Harry, “You’re an omega!”

Harry and Ginny exchanged a glance before bursting out into a fit of giggles.

“We both are and you’re a beta. Is this a case of stating the obvious or can’t you tell? I mean, my scent hasn’t deepened yet but I like to think I’m still clearly present as an omega,” Harry asked after regaining composure. 

“No I’m sure you do,” Justin hurried to try to cover his faux pas and still embarrassed, “It’s just that I’m anosmic. I can’t smell anything let alone people’s scents.”

“Oooohh, that makes sense. Sounds like a bummer?” Harry wasn’t certain how to react and didn’t like the taste of his foot in his mouth.

“Yeah, it makes social interactions interesting. My mother says that it made me something of a omeganist because I treat all dynamics the same, ” Justin said sheepishly.

“Well now that you can be sure that Harry isn’t going to impugn my honor, care to step out?” Ginny nudged.

“I dunno know…. maybe I’m queer?” Harry sing-songed.

“We’re eleven,” Ginny dead panned to the laughter of Harry and Justin.

After changing into their as of yet undecorated robes, Harry and Ginny waited in the hallway as Justin changed into his equally unmarred clothing. As they waited, Harry could feel the excitement and tension build throughout the train. Muggles would never get this excited about school, but kids going to a _magical_ school? Totally different story.

“Oh good, you’ve already changed. I was just coming to make sure you had,” Fidelia spoke up, startling Harry and Ginny. “Why are you two out here?”

“Our, um, new friend?” Harry tentatively supplied, looking back to Ginny for confirmation at their status of ‘friends.’

“Justin,” Ginny supplied.

“He’s changing in there,” Harry finished.

“See? What did I tell ya? First train ride friends are forever,” Fidelia grinned.

Just then the compartment door slid open and Justin emerged, somewhat startled by the person hanging around his impromptu changing room. He quickly recovered and offered his hand and a smile, “Hello, my name is Justin Finch-Fletchey.”

“Fidelia Potter. Nice to meet you. I’m Harry’s big sister, I’m glad to see him making friends. Anyway, we’re approaching the station, so I just wanted to make sure you were all ready,” Fidelia said were her trade mark sunny smile, before turning to Harry, “If you make it into Hufflepuff, I’ll see you tonight. If you go to a different house, make sure Era or Cal look after you and we’ll decide a time for family dinners later. Era, Cal, and I had those last year. Promotes inter-house unity and all that. Plus family comes before House. Anyway, I’m off! See you all soon!”

“She’s…cheerful,” Ginny offered as the trio went back into their compartment.

“She seems nice,” Justin piped up, much more sincere than Ginny had been.

“She didn’t even consider that I’d be in Slytherin,” Harry was hopeful that family really would come before House. Especially if these ‘family dinners’ were somehow mandatory.

“Well I’ll be your friend, regardless,” Justin said with a grin.

“Same. Even if you do become a slimy snake,” Ginny quipped.

“Snakes aren’t even slimy! They’re covered in scales. _Dry scales_ ,” Harry huffed.

“Oh hoo, ‘covered in dry scales’,” Ginny mocked with no heat in her words, “I’m sorry I’m not a snake expert. When I saw a snake in the garden I did the sensible thing to get the twins to put it in Ron’s or Percy’s bed.”

“Could have just told it to get off,” Harry suggested.

“Ha, yeah. Cause I’m a parselmouth,” Ginny replied sarcastically.

“What’s a parselmouth?” Justin asked, blessedly taking the attention off Harry.

“It’s someone who can talk to snakes,” Ginny answered matter of factly before a mischievous glint entered her eyes and she spoke in a hushed voice, “They’re typically Dark wizards and witches who use their snake magic to strike their victims dead. Or sic huge basilisks onto their enemies who eat their prey whole and still alive!”

Ginny cackled as Justin flushed with fear.

Before Harry could raise any concerns about prejudices about talking to snakes, the train came to a halt. They had arrived.


	9. Sorting Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the incredibly long delay. Since I posted last I got a job, an apartment, and have been dealing with the anxiety that that forms. Plus I had a crisis about where I wanted this story to go; like I kinda wanted to retcon things so that James was married to Rose and had cheated on her with Lily making Harry a Potter bastard who is eventually disowned or something. Point is, hopefully these updates will be more frequent.

Chapter 9

As the students poured out of the train, surprisingly orderly for excited teenagers, a gigantic man with a gigantic beard waved and hollered for the first years to gather around him. The abnormally large man led the timid and excited 11 year olds over to a small fleet of row boats and instructed them to board four to a boat. Harry felt distinctly like a duck following his mama duck with all his duckling siblings. Harry, Ginny, and Justin boarded a boat with a nervous, pudgy blonde boy who made Harry slightly nervous himself due to the boy’s physical similarities to Dudley. He knew it wasn’t fair and kinda rude, but he couldn’t help himself from inching himself away from the blonde boy.

As the last student boarded a boat, the tiny armada took off from the docks and into a thick fog that laid over the lake. After an eerie amount of time that could have been 10 minutes or an hour, with fairy lights passing by before disappearing into the fog and the occasional, not at _all_ disconcerting, splash of something in the lake just out of sight. Something large.

“Probably just a fish. A really, really big fish,” was heard floating through the fog from another nervous, unidentified 11 year old. Followed by a faint cackle that sounded too old for a first year and too feminine for Hagrid. Those were the only human sounds made on the boat ride.

And just as Harry was starting to worry that they had entered a limbo world they would never return from— he should probably read fewer horror or fantasy stories— the boats made it through the fog. Towering before them in all its majestic splendor was Hogwarts. Towers jutted skyward, somewhat ricketedly into the starry, cloudless night. Rooms were lit up sporadically throughout the castle with warm candle light, softening the edges of the castle. Instead of a fearsome fortress, Hogwarts looked like a well lived in home. In the still lake ahead of the oncoming boats, Hogwarts was reflected almost perfectly. Except the reflection shimmered slightly. And the reflection didn’t seem quite accurate. Harry was a master at the spot the differences games and he was pretty sure there were one or two more towers in the reflection than what he could physically see.

All too soon, the boats landed at a boathouse that was attached to the school proper by a covered walkway. All up the walkway, whispers excitedly broke out. Whatever spell that was cast to keep 11 year olds quiet on the boat ride had broken. Even when Hagrid banged on the huge doors he had led them to or when a flock ghosts floated through said doors, the excited whispers continued on. However, when a stern looking witch came out an leveled a disapproving look, the rambunctiousness bled away to replaced with a more somber bunch of kids. Until…

“Trevor!” the blonde boy they had shared a boat with shouted before lunging for a toad that had silently hopped up near the stern witch’s feet. Harry was thankful Cujo was better behaved than Trevor and that he wasn’t on the receiving end of _that_ particular glare. Or the snickers that had broken out; he had had enough of being teased, thank you very much. He would also have to tell Cujo not to eat that particular toad… or at least not get caught doing it.

“Sorry ma’am. Trevor, he likes to explore…” the dirty-blonde boy quietly said, not meeting the witch’s gaze.

“See that he doesn’t make a habit of it,” the witch said crisply before turning to address the rest of the assembled first years, “I am the deputy Headmistress, you may address me as professor McGonagall. Behind these doors are the students and faculty who will be your extended family for the duration of your time here at Hogwarts. Before you can join the House that will be your home, you must be sorted. Do not fret, the sorting is painless; contrary to what you may have heard from older or previous students. I will call you up by name and then place the esteemed Sorting Hat upon your heads. This hat was crafted by the founders and it will determine where best to place you. It will peer inside your mind, but don’t worry about confidentiality. Should it share your secrets without your consent, the sorting hat would quite literally unravel. You may make a request or even an argument as to why you should placed in a particular House. It does take your wishes into consideration, but be warned that it may decide against those wishes. Good luck and welcome to Hogwarts.”  
With that, she spun about and the great oaken doors that lead into the Great Hall swung open. As the stern witch’s strode up to the main aisle, the awestruck first years followed behind much slower. Each of them were trying to etch this moment onto their hearts. From the four tables with their older schoolmates staring with varying levels of interest at them; to the enormous, arching walls, and of course the magical ceiling. Though maybe ceiling wasn’t the right word, it looked like someone had removed the roof so the sky above, so full of stars this night, could be enjoyed by the students. Yet not feel the harsh bite of the winds on a Scottish night.

So enamored by everything, Harry didn’t hear the whispers of the pack of first years nor the older students. He only came back to himself when a ratty old hat that was sitting on a stool near where McGonagall stood started singing. In a surprisingly deep— considering it was _hat_ with presumably no vocal cords— and melodious voice, the hat sung of Hogwarts. How each House was noble and valued different things. Knowledge, bravery, loyalty, and ambition. Harry was reminded once again that this school was clearly established in ancient times and had acted as a bulwark against time and progression. With those sorts of values, Harry felt like the school was training knights in chilvary, not children in the ways of magic.

“Abbot, Hannah!” the first of the first years was called up to McGonagall to have the ancient, patchwork hat placed upon her head. In no time at all, the hat shouted out:  
“Hufflepuff!”

And in that way students were called up one at a time and placed into their new homes. Harry couldn’t quite keep up with all the names, but he figured he’d have time —7 years of time— to familiarize himself with his year mates. Though he did perk up when the hat called Justin up to the stool.

“Prepare yourselves, SLYTHERIN!” The hat shouted after a long pause, causing whispers to erupt in amongst the students. Though the Slytherins didn’t say a word as they politely clapped. Their judgement would be withheld for the time. The Hat rarely announced more than just the name of the house the student was to be sorted into. And when it did, it always meant something. And of course Finch-Fletchley was clearly a muggle name, a muggleborn in Slytherin was a rare thing. For good or for ill, Justin was a wizard to watch.

And at long last, Harry’s own was called. He swore he heard someone groan, “ _Another Potter?”_

Harry walked as gracefully as he could up to the stool, acutely aware of all the stares that he was being subjected to. By the time the Sorting Hat was placed upon his head, Harry’s heart was jack-hammering though he would never allow any nervousness to show on his face. Dudley’s pack had long ago taught him that showing fear just increased the bloodlust. So he was somewhat annoyed when he startled at the sensation of an outside presence whispering in his head. Cujo who had tightened around Harry’s arm in response to his wizard’s nerves, now felt like he might actually be cutting off blood-circulation.  


“Ahhh…another Potter. Not quite as prolific a bunch as the Weasleys, but numerous none-the-less. More love than fear in your family, oh but wait. Maybe that isn’t so true. Such pain you’ve felt, child. And all at the hands of your blood. But it hasn’t broken you. It’s given you such a need to prove yourself, to gain the power never to be hurt again. So where to put you? You have the ambition for Slytherin, that much is clear. But you have such a strong heart and brave besides. Such a clever mind as well. You could do well in any of the houses, though I dare say Slytherin might be the hardest given your parentage. Where would you like to go?”  


Harry paused for a long moment, distantly hearing more whispers and one of the teachers muttering about something called a ‘hat stall.’ Gryffindor was out, Erastus had soured that house completely. When realization struck. If he went into any house other than Slytherin, he’d just be the ‘youngest Potter’ or ‘So-n-so’s brother.’ He wanted to be Harry. Sure in Slytherin, he’d be the ‘Slytherin Potter’ but at least he’d be his own Potter.  


“Looks like you’ve decided which house, perhaps it’s for the best considering that rare gift you have to talk to snakes. Might want to keep that under your hat, so to speak,” the Sorting Hat gave a hearty chuckle at its own pun before suddenly shouting for the whole hall to hear, “SLYTHERIN!!”

**Author's Note:**

> So I thought that the way that basilisks are made sounds like something a child/drunk person would do. Like, imagine Herpo the Drunk of his Foul ass hiding a chicken egg under a toad and being so fricking thrilled by the outcome.


End file.
